


Pink

by hollo



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-02
Updated: 2009-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollo/pseuds/hollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes years to change yourself. It takes moments to change your mind. It takes seconds to fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coolidge

**Author's Note:**

> Such an innocent title, isn't it?
> 
> The lyrics are from Pink Floyd's "Goodbye Blue Sky".
> 
> This is another fic about a pairing that isn't popular. At all. This is, indeed, going to be a multi-chaptered fic. If you haven't read anything by me, then let me tell you that the fact that this is titled something as fluffy as "Pink" doesn't mean it is going to fluffy and sweet at all. This story is going to test some boundaries in characters. It's going to rearrange your way of thinking about them. It's going to figure out who they are when they aren't themselves.
> 
> It's also, of course, a story of love, and getting to that point where you actually know it is love. It's a story of getting to the point where you know yourself, too.
> 
> It's a story about letting go. It's a story about holding on; and it's a good idea for you to hold on as well. You never know what you might lose along the way.
> 
> The writing style is going to progress over the course of the story. Think the atmosphere of Vanilla Blue meets the atmosphere of The Spiral Clause, drifting a bit into Angina in some places, and you might be getting somewhere; or, you might not be getting anywhere at all, it all depends on what you're reading here, and what you understand. You can, however, expect shifting tones and changing atmosphere constantly in this story, as well as some jumps in time and place, and some holes in places you might not have expected holes to be. Be sure that the things that are left out are left out for a reason, such as names or places, and that some things might never be divulged in this story. Unfortunately, you can't know about everything in real life, and this story is no different. Some things you just have to muse over, without knowing whether you're close to the truth, or far far away from it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, at least. I hope you come back for the next chapter. And I hope that you will not get discouraged with either the pace or the content.

****

_The flames are all long gone_

_But the pain lingers on…_

****

Stars of red decorated the porcelain sink. They stood out in stark contrast against the white backdrop, dark centers with fading arms stretching in all directions. He gritted his teeth; another star fell to join them, spreading its arms out towards its brothers, hands overlapping, red on red on red. Their longest arms joined in a strange dance, spiraling and swirling towards the dark, grated center of the sink.

He hadn't gone deep this time; he'd made that mistake before. The stars came slowly, but they came with more relief than they had in a long time. More pleasure as well, each drop sending shivers up his arm and down his spine. He closed his eyes; he could feel them rising up out of him, pushing through that small opening he'd made for them. He could feel them emerging, welling up on his arm and racing down his palm, taking part of himself with them.

This was the closest he'd come to giving birth, he thought. And what an amazing experience it was. What an amazing experience.

He was God.

****

"All right guys, we're done for tonight. Go get cleaned up."

Dodging out of the way of the rest of the team, I pulled my helmet off and wiped the sweat off of my forehead. Grinning at the coach, I headed across the field towards the gym. Training that day was tough, but for good reason. We were getting close to the finals, and even though we were towards the front of the standings, games were getting close. With a sigh, I reminded myself of the play book I was supposed to be studying, and made a mental note to get it from the coach before he left for home that day. If I didn't get my head around those defensive maneuvers, we were going to have big trouble in the next game. The Keenesburg Kougars were an all-offense team; they'd made it this far practically on pure brawn, and if I wasn't careful my players would get squashed in the first quarter. With a sigh, I pushed open the gym doors, nearly running into the person heading out.

"Sorry, didn't see you – Oh, Red!" I grinned, stopping in the doorway with the door held opened. The guy in front of me raised one eyebrow, a slight look of annoyance crossing his face.

"Trying to get out," He said tersely, but I ignored him.

"Gonna give us a good write-up in the paper this week?" I asked cheerfully, earning a snort from the dark-clothed guy. He made a show of looking into his notebook.

" 'Twelve overgrown children spent the evening throwing each other around like sacks of potatoes in anticipation of an even larger potato throwing competition this weekend,'" Red snapped the notebook closed and looked at me pointedly. His hair had fallen into his face, more red than black since his roots were growing in again, but he didn't bother to flick it out of the way. I frowned; it seemed like he was lacking something lately.

"It's eleven, you know," I corrected him, stepping back slightly to give him room to get past. He rolled his eyes, stepping around me.

"Details," He tossed back disinterestedly as he walked away.

"How did you land the sports section, anyways?" I called after him, saw him shake his head, but he didn't respond. "I'm leaving the school five-thirty on Saturday for the game, if you need a ride!"

I couldn't tell if he heard me or not, and he rarely let me know if he did, but I still waited a few seconds before heading inside.

****

People changed. I could understand that, I really could. Heading out of the gym a short while later, I turned towards the parking lot. On it waited my not-quite-yet-old Civic (what would you expect in a backwater town like this?) and, of course, my three, wonderful best friends, who figured it was better to wait the few hours I had practice to go home instead of heading off themselves earlier.

"What the fuck you fucking shit stop stealing my stuff! I swear to fucking God –"

"What a load of bullshit, you asshole, you don't believe in God –"

"The hell it is to you, ass wipe."

"Fuckface."

"Douche."

"Turd."

Yes. My wonderful, wonderful friends. I sighed, tossing my helmet, duffle bag, and car keys to the larger guy leaning against the side of the dark blue car, and turned to the two currently trying to choke each other on the hood.

"Guys, do you really want to ride home on the hood again?" I asked. My answer was a yelp of pain, and a string of curses, as they both managed to shove each other off either side of the car.

"You, fuck, you tell him," Kyle growled, red in the face as he scrambled back to his feet. "You tell him to get his own fucking Funyuns!"

"Ha!" Kenny pulled himself up, leaning on the hood. "Fuck you, they weren't even yours! They were Cartman's!"

"I fucking won those Funyuns. They. Were. Mine!"

"Whoa, whoa, guys, cut it out, all right?" I cut in, trying to break apart the death glare that was now heating the air above the car's hood. "Get in the car before I leave you two behind."

There was maybe a second of quiet before the two realized that Kenny was closer to the prized shotgun-seat. The mad dash that followed was most likely the reason I was pounding dents out of the front of my car weekly despite never having had even a fender bender. Kyle half-leaped, half-slid across the hood as Kenny jumped for the door handle, tackling the blond as he landed. I decided to let them fight it out without interruptions this time, and turned to find Cartman leaning against the side of the car again, a big grin on his face. He tossed the keys to me as I walked over, chuckling to himself.

"What?" I asked wearily. Football practices were tiring enough without having to deal with the Dynamite-Duo.

"Nothing. Just trying to figure out when I became one of the more mentelleh balanced of this group," Cartman laughed, pulling the rear door open. I shook my head, laughing slightly.

"It just seems like that compared to th—" A thump and more cursing cut me off. I rolled my eyes, and got into the driver's seat. The remaining doors thumped closed, and I started the engine, shooting a glance to the side. Kyle sat grinning like the Cheshire cat in the front seat, with Kenny fuming in the seat just behind him. I could practically see him fighting the urge to kick the back of Kyle's seat, but was glad to see that he wasn't giving in. My car, my rules. I wasn't about to let them demolish my car just because they couldn't control themselves.

Ah, change. Sometimes it was good; sometimes it made everything into a war zone. I backed out of the parking spot and headed out of the lot, thinking back to the old days. Lines were so clearly defined back then; Kyle was the smart one, Cartman was the crazy psycho, Kenny was the silent poor boy, and me? Well, I guess I can't really say. I was never good at judging my own character, after all. Judging my friend's characters, however… I thought I had been pretty good at that.

"So man, good practice?" Kyle asked, turning a grin in my direction. The sun's last rays glinted off of his snake bite piercings.

"Yeah, lot of work though…" I grinned, turning the blinker on. What a change, indeed; straight-A student, a "nice and helpful" boy, as his mom put it. Not to say Kyle wasn't a straight-A student anymore; he blasted records and left everyone in the dust, just like before. Now, however, he did it with a strange sort of maniacal glee. Something snapped, I guess. No more rules for him; no more regulations or limitations. No traditions, either. God and religion might've been yesterday's news, buried somewhere in the middle of the paper. He'd said once he wasn't going to live a destiny someone else made for him, that he was going to make it or break it on his own terms, in his own way. Sometimes, I found myself wondering just how long his new anarchistic mantra would let him stay loyal to us, or whether he was still loyal to us at all anymore. The question was sincere, however, and although he'd just been ready to most likely rip the seething blonde's throat out, there was no malice in his eyes.

"Well, duh, you guys only got a fucking huge game coming up this weekend," Kyle leaned back in the chair, brushing fingers through his curly hair. At least that hadn't changed; I'd really be worried if it did.

I glanced into the rear view mirror to see how things were going in the back seat. Cartman had gotten his iPod out and was sharing the earbuds with Kenny; a good idea. Music always put Kenny in a good mood. I was glad for at least one near-constant in our little group; I tried not to think too hard about the fact that it was Cartman that was that near-constant. I didn't want to think what that implied about the rest of us. Cartman was, though it was hard to say, one of the more trustworthy people I knew. Over the years, with all the changes that had gone on between the four of us, I found it harder and harder to confide in anyone else. Everyone was bouncing off on some different airwaves, and the only person I could match up with was Cartman. He'd really turned into something, I had to admit. Somewhere around seventh grade his mom had taken a liking to a slightly younger businessman, and suddenly, almost overnight, Cartman found a purpose. Where before the only male presence in the house was the random midnight visitor, now there was a solid male constant, a constant that didn't fall prey to his twisted games and traps. When Cartman hit the final mark, and put into motion a plan that set on fire the car the man was driving while he was half-way to work, we all thought the end had come for him. We were wrong. There was no yelling. There was no punishment. He came home, sat Cartman down, and talked with him, for hours. I don't think anyone had ever done it before; I don't think anyone ever believed that that was all it would take. Cartman hadn't wanted the destruction as much as he'd wanted the attention, but all the attention he could get from his friends and his mother couldn't satisfy the one urge he desperately needed to satisfy. He wanted a father.

Having a father figure definitely didn't turn him into a good god-fearing boy, but it certainly put a curb on his behavior. His stepdad put his mind to work on competitions and tournaments. Instead of acting out, he was acting up, and he was excelling at it. Now, the only ones who suffered from his psychotic ideas were us, and some other classmates who we were closer with. Truth be told, I wouldn't have it any other way. Cartman without his craziness would have marked the end of the world; I've had quite enough jarring changes happening without that adding to the mix.

"Hey, Stan?" Kenny's voice broke into my thoughts, "Could you drop me off at the shop? Shut up!"

That last part was for Kyle, who certainly seemed ready to add something. I gave him a sharp look and he rolled his eyes, grumbling something under his breath.

"Sure thing Ken," I grinned into the rearview mirror, saw the blonde give me a small grin back before focusing on the music again. Cartman laughed at something, and Kenny chuckled along, slouching a bit on the seat. He had his years-old orange hoodie on with the hood pulled over his head, and I could see that the hole on the knee of his jeans had gotten larger. I don't think there was anything on him that wasn't second-hand. It wasn't a long drive to the auto repair shop, and before long Kenny was hopping out of the backseat, waving half-heartedly as he walked to the front door. I pulled away as he headed inside. A slightly uncomfortable silence followed during which Cartman busied himself with his iPod, and Kyle attempted to glare a hole through the side window.

I sighed softly, earning a sharp glance from the redhead. Trying to ignore it, I hummed a few bars of a song, wishing my stereo worked. Things had been fine, a few years ago. Kyle and Kenny had gotten along back then. Hell, they had more than gotten along, they'd practically become best friends. It was just around the time Kyle had really started questioning things; I wasn't any good at helping him through it. I couldn't understand what he was getting at, I couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear. He'd clung to me, desperately, but I couldn't give him his answers, and he found someone who could. Apparently, Kenny had been living the life Kyle was looking for all along. Don't read me wrong, Kyle didn't want poverty; he wanted freedom. Kenny had been more than willing to answer Kyle's questions about no rules and no limits, and they'd spent more hours together discussing Kyle's newfound anarchism than anyone was able to count. Kenny taught him everything he knew about a world where nothing was either punished or rewarded, and with Kyle's mind they'd almost made a philosophy out of it, with their ideas and theories painting a stark contrast to what Kyle had known until then.

Then came the… accident. Kevin high-tailed it out of town before anyone even knew what had happened and Kenny had found himself all alone in the world. The discussions, the questions and the speculations nearly drove him insane, and it was a thin line we were walking on back then, trying to keep him grounded. I wasn't sure how Kyle's new belief system would make him act; he lived in a dog eat dog world then, survival of the fittest. I couldn't see it allowing him any empathy, but either a part of his former self was still inside him, or there was more to his new philosophy than I knew. He was right there with the rest of us, telling Kenny everything was going to be all right. We didn't know what was going to happen to him, but we damned sure weren't going to let him do it alone. We'd gotten a hell of a lot closer then, and it seemed things were going to get good again.

Then Kyle's mom decided that their family was going to take Kenny in. There was lots of happiness all around; Kenny wasn't going to get sent away anywhere. We were still going to be together, all of us. Everything was going to be fine. There were a few bumps, of course. The Broflovski's weren't able to afford a new house, and there were only two bedrooms apart from the master bedroom. Since Ike was a lot younger, and it just wasn't fair to give either one of the older boys their own room without giving the other one as well, that meant that Kyle and Kenny would be sharing a room. That in and of itself wouldn't have been a problem, except that McCormick's had never lived off of charity, no matter what people said, and pride wouldn't let Kenny let anyone take care of him without giving them something in return. The blonde had called it stupid himself, but he couldn't help it. Things felt wrong otherwise. So he found a job, and said he was going to at least cover his clothes and school supplies himself. Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski said they understood.

Kyle didn't.

I pulled into the driveway of Kyle's house, but before I could turn the engine off Kyle was already climbing out of the car. He slammed the door shut and stalked off towards the back yard, hands in his pants pockets. I winced slightly; there was so much anger in him these days. I thought I could predict the mood at the Broflovski's house that night.

"No use worrying about it if you can't do anything about it," Cartman said from the back seat, "I told Kenneh he can stay at my house tonight if he wants."

"He probably won't," I sighed, still not moving the car.

"At least he knows," Cartman replied, and I heard the back door opening, then closing. A few moments later the passenger's side door opened, and he settled into the seat, eyes still on his iPod.

"So, were they really your Funyuns?" I asked as I backed the car out.

"Does it matter?" Cartman snorted, then smirked at me, eyes glittering. "Hell of a show, wasn't it?"

"I swear –" I cut myself off, groaning. "Cartman, are you ever going to stop setting them up like that?"

"I can't help it, they're so easeh to set off," Cartman snickered, and I shook my head. And he called himself the "mentally stable" one of our bunch.

****

Okay, so tossing balls of paper across the room probably wasn't the right way to get on a person's good side, but he hadn't exactly been responding to my other methods of getting his attention. Still, it was only after a good dozen pages out of my notebook had been sent on a ten-foot flight that he finally reacted. Tilting his head to get his long bangs out of his eyes, he glared at me. I grinned back, pointed at the empty seat next to me. He rolled his eyes, but grabbed his book and bag and headed over.

"I was studying," Red said quietly, glancing over at the study hall monitor as he dropped into the seat.

"Maybe I could study with you?" I suggested, leaning back in my chair.

"There's five minutes left," He answered, "And Chaos Theory takes a bit longer to comprehend, especially if you the type of person who makes it a habit to sustain concussions on a regular basis."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. Twirling the pencil, I looked down at the open notebook on my own desk. Nothing but scribbles, of course, and some football plays that I was trying to find work-arounds for.

"Tell me about the butterfly." I said, frowning at one of the notations I had made. I crossed it out and wrote something else next to it.

"The butterfly is just one, small part of Chaos Theory," Red said, and I smiled at him.

"Baby steps for us concussed ones, right?" I raised an eyebrow, and he looked thoughtful.

"I can't tell you about the butterfly in under two minutes," Red unzipped his bag and tucked the book inside. I watched him for a moment, then leaned over.

"Are you ever going to tell anyone your real name?" His eyes and mine were on level, and he raised an eyebrow.

The bell rang.

"Dammit!" I groaned, leaning back in my chair. Red got up, tossing the shoulder strap on.

"Almost made it that time, just a few seconds too late," He shrugged.

"Not fair, you paused," I grumbled, getting up from my chair myself. "It was exactly thirty seconds to the end when I asked."

"So you think," Red answered as he turned to go. "Better luck next time."

I grabbed my own things, packing up as he left. Better luck next time, my ass. This game was getting on my nerves, but I couldn't stop. Somehow, no matter how close I was time wise, he always managed to put it off. I'd manage it eventually. I just wanted to do it before we graduated.


	2. Faction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, some things are left out for a reason. Some things are put in for a reason. Some things appear for what seems to be no reason at all. Try to read this as if you were trying to pick it apart; why are they doing what they're doing? What is the reason behind their words? Is there reason, in anything that they're doing? Why are certain things put forth for you, the reader, to read, while other things are left as big blanks? Just why is some information only given in the least, and scarcely?
> 
> There is one thing that I'm slightly worried about, and that is because I know it happens to me quite a lot when I'm reading fics, and that is Kyle's presence in this story compared with both other stories I have written and other stories out there. If you are subconsciously keeping the idea of Kyle as either preppy/nerdy/basketball player/or any one of the more popular Kyle-types out there, you might be missing a part of the story that I'd rather you not be missing. If you find you can't get that imagery out of your head as you read, I suggest you re-read Stan's description of Kyle in the first chapter before you read any more of this story to help you out.
> 
> Yes. Author Notes for this story will be involved, and complicated. I don't want you to just read this, I want you to understand something about this story and maybe even get something from it. This is why I'm writing it the way I am, and this is why although the title might not bring in too much interest, it is staying the way it is.

****

"For each ecstatic instant, we must in anguish pay, in keen and quivering ratio to the ecstasy," Wendy read from her open book, voice trying to portray some deep emotion behind the words. I tuned her out as she continued; Dickinson was great and all, but I'd gotten sick of her freshman year. There's only so much re-reading that you can do on her poems. I mean, seriously, she locked herself in her house and wandered around wearing wedding dresses, and sent out letters to someone she called her "master". The lady was just not right in the head, and there's only so many times you can read her writing before it all starts sounding the same.

"Thank you Wendy," the teacher said, standing up from behind her desk. "Now, I know everyone has picked a poet. Please, class, find a partner who has picked the same poet as you have, and discuss a poem or two. Do not be afraid to challenge each other's ideas! For next class I would like a short informal essay on what you decide on. A page or two, double-spaced, will do. Now, off to work!"

I sighed, turning to the blond sitting next to me with a hopeful look. He was flipping through the pages of his paperback, sticking little pieces of post-it notes at certain places.

"Leo, tell me some good news," I grinned, and he gave a slight grin back.

"Sorry, Stan, but Ah don't think ya picked Whitman…" Leo looked slightly hopeful, but only slightly. I shook my head, sighing; dammit, I did not want to get stuck with some loser for group work. "Well, who did ya pick?"

"Byron," I answered, looking around the class for someone who looked like they might go for Byron.

"Ah think one of the goth kids is doin' Byron," Leo said as he gathered up his things. I rolled my eyes.

"The goth kids do Poe." I said, giving him a look that should have told him I knew better.

"The guy is doing Byron," Leo said, and I frowned. That wasn't right; the goth kids always did Poe. I looked at the other side of the room where Red sat next to Henrietta. They were talking about something, but it looked as if she was getting her things together.

"Ya can always work with Patti, she's doin' Byron too." Leo said, a slight smirk on his face. I glared at him, grabbing the things off of my desk and standing up. His smirk widened, "Ya know she'd just looove to work with ya…"

"Don't. Even." I grabbed my bag off of the floor, glancing around hurriedly to see if the frizzy-haired girl was looking my way. Thankfully she was busy talking with the teacher, and before Leo could get in another word I was hurrying across the classroom towards Red. Henrietta passed me along the way, and although I smiled at her, she give me one of those goth-patented you-are-a-worm looks and went on her way. Shrugging it off I dropped into the seat next to the red-and-black haired goth, sending a grin his way. He raised an eyebrow at my Byron paperback, but I cut him off before he could say a word.

"Either me or Patti," I said, and he stared at me, hard. I wasn't bluffing, however, and both of us suddenly found ourselves covering up the fronts of our books as the girl in question walked by, asking if anyone else had picked Byron and if she could join in on a group.

"Fine," Red looked after her warily for a second before turning to his book. I shared his uneasiness; Patti had thick glasses, braces, and an insatiable need to hit on anything with a dick between its legs. Anything. I think she'd go for animals, too if they only spoke English and acted human. "Which poem?"

"Stanzas For Music," I said, flipping the pages of my book lazily. I could feel his eyes on me, and I looked at him. "What?"

"Which one?" Red asked, paused with the book halfway open.

"Guess." I grinned at him, closing my own book. He gave me a slightly annoyed look, which on him meant that he was horribly annoyed, but he was soon flipping to a certain page.

"Okay, so it's about loss, but what kind?" He asked, leaving the book opened to the poem.

"Dammit, how did you figure it out?" I growled, flipping my own book open. No fair, I could swear he was telepathic. My only answer was silence, so I sighed and answered his question. "Obviously a loss of self."

"Obviously." I could feel him roll his eyes even though I couldn't see him. "What part?"

"Does it matter? Losing any part of what makes you, you, is losing yourself." I said, doodling in the margins of the book. I turned to find him giving me a dirty look. "What? Oh, right. Sorry. Literature's meant to be read, not drawn on."

I took my pencil off of the page and started tapping it on the desk instead. Red turned to his book without a comment, intent either on finding the meaning of the poem, or on ignoring me. I figured it was the latter, considering the glare he'd given me before turning away, and decided to leave him alone for a few minutes.

'What about the ivy?" I asked only about a minute later. So, I'm not too good with that resolve thing sometimes.

"What about the ivy?" Red asked, not looking up from the book. He'd placed it on the desk and was leaning over it on crossed arms. His hair was blocking his face and I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or not.

"Is it just a metaphor for what it seems to be a metaphor for?" I realized just how stupid that sounded about a half-second after it left my mouth.

"Wonderfully eloquent, Stan," Red said in reply. I waited but he didn't say anything else.

"I mean, look, it sounds like it means that people are continuing to act like they did, even though they're all dead inside, right?" I said, trying to see if I was getting his attention. Red didn't move an inch, but at least he said something.

"What else could it mean?" His voice, at least, sounded interested. Slightly.

"Well, he used the word "wildly", which seems a little weird, you know? Why not just say they were "all green and fresh" and leave it at that?" I pushed on.

"Other than to keep the timing right..." He supplied; a good sign. Just because he wasn't looking my way didn't mean he wasn't listening.

"Other than that…" I paused for a moment. ""Wildly" is pretty specific imagery. They're not just green and new leaves, right? They're bursting with freshness, they're, they're overflowing all over the turret."

"And?"

"And maybe it's highlighting something that people just tend to do sometimes," I paused again, thinking. It was a saddening thought, and I didn't like it that much. "What if it's highlighting that thing that where, the worse you feel, the more you try acting like you normally do? So you end up totally overdoing it, and practically pointing out something is wrong, anyways."

"…That's a good idea…" Red said thoughtfully after a minute. He looked at me then, I could almost see his face behind his bangs. "You should write about that."

I smiled; my idea was good. I don't know why, but I found myself more than a little happy. Red didn't hand out compliments like that.

"What are you going to write about?" I asked, grinning. Red shrugged.  
"Something." He looked back down at his book, falling silent. A dismissal, and I didn't feel even a bit annoyed. I turned to my book happily and started jotting notes in my notebook. Hell. My idea was good.

****

Practice had dragged on longer than it should have; the coach wanted us to redo a few defensive plays, and no one wanted to argue. Tomorrow was game day, and I could see that everyone was feeling the pressure. Practice was filled with lots of cursing and yelling, and when anyone laughed, it had a slight edge to it, as if they were about to lose control and go maniacal.

The Kougars had won their last game, just a few days ago, and if we lost even by the smallest margin, we were most likely out of the finals. I couldn't tell if the plays the coach and I had decided on would work, but hell, we had to try. If we failed, at least we'd know we tried our hardest. Which didn't help, of course, but it would be easier to pretend that it did.

The parking lot was eerily empty; my car was pretty much the last one there. One of the parking lot lights flickered as I walked underneath it, and a little chill ran down my spine. Chuckling, I shrugged it off; paranoid much? I couldn't wait until tomorrow was over, and I could finally relax a little. Walking across the asphalt I realized that my car really was totally deserted on the lot. Instead of the figures of my friends hovering around it, it was… alone. Strange. I couldn't help wondering if something had happened, since they rarely went home without me. Cartman would never get his ass in gear enough to even walk to the bus stop, or pay money to take it, and forget walking all the way home. Kyle and Kenny didn't really have a reason not to wait for me, we lived practically across the street from each other. Practice did drag on tonight, so maybe they just got tired of waiting and left.

I walked up to my car warily, keys held out as if they were a raygun. I don't know what I'd do if some masked figure jumped out at me, and I doubt trying to stab him with keys would help, but at least I'd be ready. Or something. I opened the trunk, tossed in my things, and pushed it closed. The snap of the lock catching seemed much too loud in the darkness. I winced, looking around. I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Slowly, on a whim, I headed around to the passenger's side of the car.  
So, the lot wasn't as empty as I had thought. Kyle sat leaning back against the side of the car, arms resting on his crossed legs. He picked at a loose thread on his black jeans as I walked over, but gave me a grin.

"So, waiting until I drove off without you?" I asked, crouching down next to him. I ran a hand through my still damp hair, looking at him.

"I have trust in your natural curiosity," Kyle answered, laughing and giving me a slight push. Standing up he stretched his arms above his head and yawned. Looking at his leather-band watch, he gave me a look. "We going?"

"I guess," I said, standing up and heading around the car. I looked around curiously. "Where are—"

"Fuck them."

"Ah. All right, then," I unlocked the doors, sliding into the driver's side as Kyle got in from the other side. He was fiddling with the radio before I even got the door closed, frowning when all he got was static.

"When the hell are you going to get this fixed?" He growled, banging on it with his fist. I sighed, frowning at him, and started off across the lot.

"Hitting it isn't going to make it work, you know," I said, looking over at him. "I just keep forgetting."

"Jesus, just ask Kenny. He works at that stupid auto shop, maybe he can fix it," Kyle said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and rolled his eyes to emphasize it. I waited a moment before replying; I never knew when talking about Kenny's job would set Kyle off.

"You think?" It was the best answer I could come up with, and I hoped the safest. Kyle snorted, shaking his head.

"Dude, I'll tell him tonight." He said, grinning and slouching down in the seat. His behavior was making me confused.

Obviously, they'd fought again. I could tell that much; there was always a feeling left behind after their fights, you'd walk up and suddenly you'd get a bad taste in your mouth. You can tell something went down. So why Kyle was talking about things that would usually piss him off so normally…

I was just going to admit to myself that I had no clue what was going on, and leave at that. Better to quit while I was ahead.

"Buckle up, please," I said, and Kyle sighed loudly. It was another one of those my-car-my-rules things.

"Yes, Mother," He obliged, making sure that I knew it was a great and torturous effort for him to do so. He was an ass, but what're you going to do? At least with his seat belt on he was a safe ass.

"Bowling?" I asked, grinning and looking at him from the corner of my eye.

"Bowling?" He asked, turning a surprised look my way. "You have a fucking game tomorrow."

"Well, yeah, but it's at six pm, not am." I said, and looked at him. "Duh."

"Duh." He stuck his tongue out at me, and we both started to laugh. A sudden wave of nostalgia hit me; I was regretting a lot of things suddenly, in just moments, and I had to clear my throat, turning to look out the side window for a second.

"Bowling it is then." I said, trying to cover up the momentary backtrack that I'd taken, and turned on my blinker as I drove over into the turning lane. In the darkness, with the streetlamps spaced far apart, it was hard to see anything. Waiting for the light to change I looked over at Kyle again. He was lost in shadows; I could barely see him.

The light changed, and I moved, turning smoothly through the practically empty intersection.

"I'm gonna get my clavicle pierced," Kyle said suddenly, and I nearly jerked the wheel.

"What? Why?"

"Because I can… duh…"

****

The doorbell rang at just half past eleven. I only knew that because I happened to be checking the messages on my cell at the same moment. Of course, since it was Saturday and everyone else was busy trying to do nothing, I had to open the door. Yawning I stumbled down the stairs; the fact that I'd been up for at least two hours didn't mean anything. After bowling it was time for pizza, and I don't know how long we were driving around the graveyard looking for ghosts, but I do know that I got home a lot closer to dawn than I had wanted to. At least it was time well spent, and I grinned to myself as I pulled the door open.

"Hello there Mr. Marsh, I hear you have need of my services," Kenny greeted, grinning widely. I stared at him in shock for a long moment, caught off guard.

"W…what?" I frowned, and the blonde laughed.

"Radio? Kyle told me it's so broke it doesn't even want to play the oldies," He said, holding up a large black case. "Got everything I need here, so if you want I can see what I can do."

"Oh, right, yeah." I laughed, shaking my head. I grabbed the keys off of the table by the door and headed out. "Sorry, still not awake."

"Not surprised, dude. You guys only came back at like three in the morning," Kenny chuckled, and followed me as I led the way over to my car. I unlocked the doors and let Kenny get set up. He got in at the driver's side and tossed the case onto the passenger side seat. Opening it up, he pulled out a few tools and started on the radio. I crouched by the open passenger side door, peering inside to see what he was doing.

"You think it'll be easy to fix?" I asked, watching as he unscrewed, well, something, and slid the radio out. I had no clue how to do these sorts of things, and watching Kenny work on it was like watching him do magic.

"Well, we'll see… if it's something in the radio itself, it's gonna be harder, but I remember this thing working when you got the Civic…" Kenny said, turning on a small flashlight and handing it to me. "Here, hold that… there, yeah. If we're lucky it's just a short somewhere and I can replace the wires and have it working…"

I nodded; I understood that part at least. Holding the flashlight as evenly as I could, I watched Kenny work. For all his pretty lively talking, he looked tired, maybe even more tired than I was. His hair was messy, as if he'd just pulled himself out of bed, and there were bags under his eyes. His eyes weren't much better themselves, they looked dull, dark. I tried not to stare, and instead found myself looking at his arms. He'd pulled the sleeves of his hoodie, yeah, the same orange hoodie he always wore, up to his elbows to keep them from getting in the way. His hands were in the hole in the dashboard, and his skin was eerily pale against the darkness inside. His forearms seemed too thin; Kenny had always been on the skinny side, but I'd expected him to bulk up at least a little once he started eating normally.

I frowned slightly, looking down into the tool box. It wasn't much more than an old fishing tackle box that he'd gutted and set up his own dividers in. Everywhere I looked I was being reminded that he just wasn't as well off as the rest of us, and it wasn't making sense. Or, it was making too much sense, and I just didn't want to see it right then.

"Kenny?" I paused, uncertain whether I should go on or not. He grimaced, pulling at something in the back of the hole, but replied.

"Yeah?"

"Is… everything cool, like, at home?" I asked, keeping my head down, but looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He looked at me, a curious look on his face.

"What?" He almost grinned, puzzled as he was, and I fidgeted slightly. Geez, when did I become this scared to ask my friends how they were doing?

"Look, okay, like… how are you and Kyle… doing? I guess?" I asked, wincing slightly as I looked up at him. He was giving me what seemed to be a highly amused look.

"We're doing fine," Kenny chuckled, definitely amused. He went back to working in the hole, pulling out a wire after a moment. "Why?"

"Why?" I asked in disbelief. "Fuck, you two only try to kick each other's asses every day. Is that a good enough reason?"

"Light," Kenny reached out to tilt my hand back up. Pulling a spare wire out of his case, he reached into the hole and fiddled around for a moment before answering. "We live in the same room, Stan. If we didn't fight, we'd go insane."

"And you think that's right?" I asked, really not understanding what the hell was going on. Kenny shrugged.

"I don't know… Why, did Kyle say something?" He asked, detaching the old wire from the radio and tossing it into a corner of his case. I frowned, thinking.

"No." I admitted finally, poking at a group of screws in the case.

"Did I say something?" He asked, tightening the screw holding the wire to the radio. I sighed loudly, and Kenny gave me a pointed look.

"No, you didn't." I said, watching as Kenny slid the radio back in place. He tightened the screws back into place, and I turned the flashlight off and tossed it back into the case.

"Keys," He said, grinning, and I handed them over. Sitting back in the driver's seat, he put the keys in the ignition and turned the power on. The radio screen flashed to life, blinking four zeros. Kenny reached out and hit a button, and some country song blared through the speakers at an ungodly volume.

"Dammit!" I jabbed at the buttons, finally finding the volume control, and the song faded to a more normal level. Kenny was laughing in the driver's seat, and with some strange sort of twist he slouched down low and slung his legs over the steering wheel. That laughter was contagious, and soon I had joined in. Part of it was the situation; part of it was some strange sort of relief, although I didn't know where it came from. I couldn't stop; Kenny looked at me, and his eyes were dancing, alive, and I hoped that maybe, just maybe, things weren't going the way I thought they were.

****

At five-forty-five the school bus was already fifteen minutes gone, and I was staring out my windshield at the dull brown bricks of the school wall. There was a squirrel sitting at the edge of the roof, and for the past five minutes it had been trying to go down the wall, only to stop mid way there, turn around, and climb back up. It had been entertaining for the first minute or so, but now I was fighting the urge to get out the car, walk over there, and grab the stupid thing and throw it in the nearest tree.

One of the car doors opened suddenly, and I turned to see Red sit down in the passenger side seat, pulling the door closed behind him. He tossed his messenger bag to the floor and pulled on his seat belt, and it looked like he was trying to catch his breath. He was dressed a little differently than usual, but that was normal for away games. The hat, though, was new.

"Nice hat," I grinned, amused. I didn't blame him for having one, the sun was crazy that day for some weird reason, but it just so happened to be one of those cadet hats, or whatever they're called, that all the emo kids were wearing these days. At least it was a plain black one, and not one those plaid ones with bleeding hearts in neon pink and white embroidered on it.

"Why are you still here?" Red said, and it was only because his eyes were suddenly flaming that I realized he took my comment as an insult.

"Dude, seriously, I wasn't trying to be mean, it's a nice hat," I said earnestly, "And you missed the bus, I figured you were going to be late."

"I could have gotten a ride from someone," Red pointed out, and I shrugged, agreeing.

The damn squirrel was trying to go down the wall, again. Step, step, step, and turn, and dash up the side again, and back on the roof. What the hell was wrong with that thing? Maybe there was something on the ground that was throwing it off, but that didn't make sense.

"Are you going to start driving soon?" Red asked after a long moment, and I shrugged again.

"Nah, I think they'll do okay without me," I grinned at him. He looked at me as if I'd just gone insane, and I laughed at his expression. "Just kidding. We're going."

I turned the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbled to life.

"We only have ten minutes to get there," Red said, staring out the side window.

"We have more. Come on, how many games have you been to already? Kick off's always late, always. At least half an hour." I chuckled, looking over at him. "We have plenty of time."

He gave me a critical look, but didn't say anything back.

"Hey, if you wanna put any music on, there's CD's in the glove compartment," I suggested; damn was I happy my radio worked. A pause, but then Red opened up the glove compartment and started flipping through CD's.

"All American Rejects? Really?" He tossed the CD aside in disgust.

"Hey, everyone's got one guilty ple—"

"Fallout Boy? The Used?" Two more CDs were thrown aside, and I sputtered a little.

"Okay, well, some of us have three…" I tried to defend myself, at least. I got a disbelieving snort in reply, and for a while we drove on in what was, at least on my side, an awkward silence. A few minutes later I heard the CD being slid into the radio, but I wasn't ready for the speakers to start blasting upbeat guitar riffs with a support of trumpets. I turned to Red, staring at him in disbelief.

"What?" He asked, his look blatantly innocent.

"Less Than Jake?" I asked, still in disbelief. I had to look back at the road finally, but I was pretty sure my expression stayed the same.

"You said it yourself…" Red said evenly, "Besides, that was the only good thing you had in there."

"It is not the only good thing I have in there," I said, stopping at a red light.

"Do you want me to make a list?" Red looked at me, an eyebrow just slightly raised.

"Next time bring your own CDs," I countered, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel in time.

"Maybe I will," He snapped right back, and I almost missed the light turning green. Was he just being sarcastic, or was he actually suggesting that he might take me up on this driving-to-games offer again? I turned to him slightly, ready to say something, but stopped myself. He was looking out the windshield with a strange look on his face. I thought it'd be better not to bother him in whatever thoughts he was thinking, and turned back to the road again. Five minutes left, and if God was on my side, then maybe kick off really would be late. Humming along with "Magnetic North", I sped up a tiny bit and hoped God was as good a guy as people thought he was.


	3. Catalina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, and in a pretty short time, as well. A little shorter than the previous one, but as always I prefer to end in a place where I feel the story needs the chapter to end, rather than reaching a certain word count.
> 
> This was not a chapter that wanted to get over-worked. It fought against being over-worked valiantly
> 
> Also, my ferret slept on my lap for probably a good 60% of the chapter, so now I smell like ferret, and can't feel my legs because I haven't moved them in over and hour and a half.
> 
> Food for thought: Not everything we do is done consciously. Not everything we think, we think consciously. The things we say without thinking of them, consciously, we can hear when we speak, and we know we've said them. The thoughts we think sub-consciously, without focusing on them, don't always let us remember them, and so we can end up being surprised when they suddenly burst, full fledged, into our consciousness. The actions we do without thinking about them consciously are somewhere in the middle; we should be able to know we've done them, because they are physical actions that have physical consequences, but we don't always recognize the fact that we are doing them, even if we do have those physical consequences set before us as evidence.
> 
> Sometimes that feeling that we get rising up in us, without seemingly any reason behind it, is a product of our sub-conscious thoughts working behind the scenes. Sometimes it is our subconscious that knows what is really going on. The problem is when our sub-conscious remains the only part of us that knows what is going on.

He never scarred.

He didn't understand why he couldn't scar.

He was mortal, wasn't he? He could die.

So why couldn't he scar?

****

I stood at the edge of the field, staring out over the trampled grass and yard lines. The sun was just starting to set in front of me, tinting the clouds hovering above the horizons a pinkish-orange. There were shouts and laughs coming from the parking lot behind me, but they seemed distant; everything around me seemed silenced. Hollow. I leaned against the side of the bleachers heavily, sighing.

"It was a good game."

I looked up Red where he sat smoking on the bleachers. His bag was at his feet, and he was looking out over the field as well. I laughed, no, almost laughed but not quite, and grinned wearily. He turned to me; I couldn't read his expression, which wasn't anything new. Sighing again, I tossed my helmet to the ground and walked up the bleachers to sit down on the same bench he sat on.

"Don't you need that for the next game?" Red asked, and I shrugged, rubbing my hands together. The wind blew past me, bringing with it the scent of smoke and cloves.

"Dunno," I answered. Truthfully, maybe. I dropped my head into my hands, rubbed at my eyes with my palms. I was probably smearing my eye black but I could care less. Even if I did end up as a raccoon. I grimaced, and stopped rubbing my eyes. "Dammit."

I looked up, chin still in my hands, to look at the field again. A few streamers from the cheerleaders' pom-poms were fluttering around on the grass. I could see a few patches where the turf had been torn up during an especially hard tackle, the soil black against the rich green of the grass. I looked over at Red, surprised to find him watching me, cigarette held in his fingers. There was a strange look in his eyes, and he was frowning just slightly.

"What?" I asked, or maybe groaned was more like it.

"You made good decisions." He said, with a certainty I wish I had. He sounded so damn certain I almost believed him.

"Sure," I answered with a laugh. I could hear the bus engine idling in the background. There were more shouts, and calls, but they were fading even more as time went by. As I stared out over the field, the sun dipping lower on the horizon, I could hear the bus engine begin to grow quieter.

"There they go," I muttered, unable to even try to lift my head. Red shifted slightly on the bleacher bench, I could feel him move, but he stayed silent. I sighed again; I was replaying everything that had happened on the field in my head. There were so many things I could have done; I should've sent the runner that way, flanked their main offense. I should have played for longer throws, they wouldn't have been able to block them. I should've, should've, should've…

"You're only human," Red said, although I just barely heard him. I covered my face again, closing my eyes. I didn't want to look at him; I had the feeling that he was keeping his gaze on me all this time, and it was a little… I don't know what it was, but I wished he'd look away, just for a moment.

"That's off the field," I replied, running my fingers through my hair and opening my eyes to see that trampled field again. "On the field, I'm supposed to be something more."

Red stayed silent, and I was grateful for that at least. Darkness was starting to creep in, and I was starting to realize that just because we were there didn't mean that the field lights would be coming on. Still, I couldn't find the will to move.

"You missed the bus," I spoke before I realized it, not really thinking. All I knew was that I couldn't hear any motors anymore; the lot must be empty already.

"Was I supposed to be on it?" Red asked, and it was the slight, barely-there, note of surprise which had snaked itself into his words that made me look at him. His cigarette was gone, probably tossed away already, and his eyes were on me. I couldn't help but think how funny it was that a hat that looked stupid on half the kids in school looked perfect on him. Maybe because it matched his whole color scheme. Maybe because it was him.

"No," I said finally, managing a soft grin. "No."

****

The dry erase board was covered with the type of notations and equations you'd expect to find in a scientist's lab. I smirked slightly at the comparison, looking over the red, green, and blue scrawls, and picked up one of the markers resting on the board's edge. Grinning to myself, I popped the marker's cap off, and looked for a place that wouldn't be obvious. I pressed the tip of the marker to a spot right at the end of a particularly long equation and started to add my own random numbers to the mix.

"Stan! What the fuck are you doing?"

Cartman's voice, booming out of nowhere, nearly made me drop the marker. It was snatched out of my hand soon enough, and my additions to the board were being erased.

"Aw, come on," I sighed loudly, "I didn't do anything…"

"You were adding almost two mahls to the trajectoreh, douche," Cartman growled, capping the marker and tossing it onto the little edge at the bottom of the board. He glared at me, crossing his arms. "Two mahls."

"That's a problem?" I asked innocently, leaning back against the brunette's desk. I grinned, and Cartman rolled his eyes. The larger brunette turned a critical eye to the board again, looking for any other additions I might have added.

"Whaddya want?" Cartman asked finally, satisfied that there weren't any other changes made.

"Nothing. Just wanted to stop by and say hey, I guess," I shrugged, looking around the room. Nothing much was different since last time; the dry erase board stood against the wall as it had always stood, and the wall opposite was covered in schematics and designs for various objects. "Planning anything new?"

"Eh, you know, usual stuff…" Cartman shrugged, walking over to the wall of blueprints, "This one? It's an undetectable personnel carrier, but it's five times as efficient at being undetected by radar than the best stealth planes they have now, even though it's large enough to carry around sixty people."

"Personnel carrier? That sounds… tame…" I said, and Cartman snorted, turning a smirk my way.

"I was planning a bomber with the abiliteh to transport a high amount of dumb bombes deep inside enemy territoreh and leave without being detected." Cartman looked back at the schematic. "Dad said it'd be easier to get funding for a more ambiguous design, at least on the level of contests now. He said I should keep the bomber idea for later."

I grinned, nodding slightly. The guy had a great way of keeping Cartman interested, and in line at the same time. I looked up at the model plane hanging from the ceiling; it was some sort of wedge-shaped deal with flared wing ends. I had no idea what it did, or was supposed to do. All I knew was that it was what won Cartman an award in some Midwest designers convention for high school students, or whatever it was. He'd put a lot of work into that , he put in a lot of work on all of his designs.

"Did you ever get lost?" I asked, still looking up at the plane. It was shifting slightly in the air currents of the room.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Cartman muttered. I sighed, looking over at him. He was running his hand over the designs, fingers pressing the corners firmly just in case any of them wanted to loosen their hold on the wall.

"Nothing." I bit my lip, hopped back onto the desktop. Cartman turned to give me a strange look, and I shrugged, grinning. He rolled his eyes and moved over to sit on his bed.

"Then why the hell are you asking meh?" Cartman stared at me, hard. I looked away, but I knew he wasn't going to let me off the hook. "Are you being a pusseh again Stan? You are, aren't you?"

"Nooo…" I kept myself from looking at him, but I was having a hard time not giving in and admitting he was right. I didn't want to, because then I would really look like a total fag. Of course, I'd already made myself look like a total fag in front of Cartman numerous times, so I didn't know why it mattered.

"It's just… I was…" I rocked my feet, kicking lightly against the desk, and looked over at him. He was looking painfully condescending. I was most likely taking away time he could be spending on plans or designs, or maybe just good old fashioned plotting. "I was just thinking about Craig, you know…"

"God damn, Stan," Cartman groaned, "It's been two fucking years! Stop being such a whineh fag, will you?"

I dropped my head, bit my lip. I knew he was right, but it wasn't an easy thing to do. It wasn't easy at all.

"We bareleh knew him, I don't know why it's bothering you so much…" Cartman continued to grumble under his breath. I tried to take a deep breath, but it caught in my throat. I put a hand to my face, rubbed my eyes.

"What got you thinking about him?" Cartman asked, or snapped was more like it..

"I dunno, I was just thinking…" I sighed, dropping my hand. Cartman was giving me a strange look. I grinned, but he grimaced, and shook his head.

"You know what your problem is? You think too much." Cartman sighed, standing up off of the bed. I nodded, laughing.

"Yeah, you're right." I let out the breath and looked over at him. He nodded his head towards the door, and I stood up, following him out the door.

"You need to work on that, jocks aren't supposed to have brains, you're totalleh ruining your image," Cartman smirked at me as we headed down the hallway. I gave him a good-natured shove, grinning, and followed him down the stairs.

****

Fine arts class was a pretty new addition to the high school curriculum, and because of that we had nothing more than a glorified scrapbooking retiree teaching us the names of colors and showing us what a color wheel was for. Most of what she showed us I remembered from grade school, so it was no wonder that most of the class was coasting by with easy A's. I yawned, laying my head on my arms. I didn't know what the teacher was going to have us do, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't need more than a few minutes to finish whatever it was she thought up for us.

"Well, class, I have something verrrry interesting for us to try today…"

I grimaced; sometimes I thought nails on the chalkboard might be less irritating than her voice. I managed to ignore most of what she said after that, and was just beginning to happily dozing off when someone shoved me from the side. I groaned, burying my face deeper into my arms, but whoever it was didn't give up, and only shoved me harder.

"Dammit, Stan, wake the fuck up will you?" Kyle's voice hissed from my side, and I raised my head slowly.

"What?" I looked at him blearily, trying to hold back a yawn, and he shook his head.

"Dude, we actually have to do something today," The redhead looked slightly worried, and he was talking quietly. "And we're supposed to be starting it now."

I looked around curiously; there was not a sound in the room, and everyone seemed to have a far off look on their faces.

"What's going on?" I asked, but it seemed I asked too loudly and Kyle shushed me quickly.

"You're supposed to be thinking of something that makes you happy," He said, smirking. "And then you have to draw it, or paint it, or something."

"What?" This time I managed to keep my voice to a whisper, but I was just a little taken aback.

"Abstract. It's not supposed to be realistic or anything. It's just supposed to represent it," Kyle explained. I nodded, feeling a little better, and looked up towards the front of the room. The teachers was giving us a curious look, and I ducked my head quickly.

"I guess it's time to start then," I said quietly, and Kyle snickered.

With a sigh, I tried to think of something I liked. A lot. Footbal was up front, of course, but it was so cliché. Of course, Mr. Jock likes football, a lot. What a surprise. Well, then, maybe a girl or something. I frowned, concentrating. A girl. Mr. Jock is supposed to like girls, right? Wait, that was another cliché. I wasn't sure how I was going to figure out something that made me happy that I could use. I mean, I'm not exactly an artsy type of person; hell, I try, but it just doesn't work for me. And drawing or painting something that makes me happy, that's just… more than a little difficult.

Except, I realized, it isn't all that difficult at all. We're supposed to do something abstract. Abstract. I grinned as I realized just how easy this whole thing was going to be, and turned to Kyle to share the good news. I would've told him right away, too, but his expression was so dreamy I just couldn't bring myself to do it. People were starting to get up all around us, moving towards the supply closet in back, but Kyle was just staring off somewhere into space, a slight, soft grin on his face. I decided to give him a few minutes; it's obvious whatever he was thinking about was pretty special to him.

Pretty special was probably right on target, I thought as I looked back at him. His eyes had gotten a certain glint to them, and his grin was turning into a leer. Grinning, I reached out and gave him a slight shove; it'd probably be better for him to wake up, considering most of the class was already working on something. It took him a little while to snap out of it, and once he did he gave me a harsh glare.

"So, thinking about something that makes you happy, eh?" I said, winking. Kyle scowled at me for a moment, but it quickly turned into a smirk as he slouched back in his chair. "What was it?"

"Fire," Kyle answered without pause, fiddling with one of his ear studs. The look in his eyes was a little secretive, but though I gave him a curious glance, eyebrow cocked, he didn't say anything more about it. I grinned, shaking my head.

"Fire? Didn't know you could get so… horny for fire…" I chuckled, and Kyle whacked me in the arm. "Seriously, fire?"

"Yes, fire," Kyle affirmed.

"I worry about you sometimes," I said jokingly, grinning at him.

"I worry about me sometimes, too," Kyle answered. Something threw me off in his answer, and I looked at him closely, but he laughed and got up. "Need anything from the supply closet?"

"I'll come with you," I said, grinning. I still needed to come up with something myself, but I could feel something tugging at the back of the mind. We headed over to the supply closet and started digging through the paper trays and racks of coloring supplies. I didn't know what to pick, and started pulling paints out at random, and putting them back at random as well. Finally, I stood back, eyeing the supplies and wondering if I was missing something.

"Black and red?" Kyle asked, looking at the paints I had grabbed. I looked down at them in surprise; I hadn't realized what I was grabbing, and I didn't know what the hell I was going to do with red and black. Reaching back among the supplies I pulled out a bottle of brown and a bottle of white paint as well.

"Football," I said, grinning at the redhead next to me.

"You're not making any sense," Kyle snickered, pulling out a pack of different colored construction paper and flipping through it.

"Oh, and you are, Mr. Pyro? Tell me, does the thought alone work, or do you actually need to light some matches to get off?" That was snarky, and I knew it, and Kyle flipped me off, rolling his eyes.

"Better than getting off to the smell of pigskin," He snapped back, and although we both laughed it sounded a little strained. I tried not to frown, turning away from the supply closet. As we headed back to our seats, I desperately tried to think of a way to make red, black, and brown turn into an abstract representation of football. This easy assignment was suddenly starting to look more and more difficult.


	4. Bughouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Food for thought:
> 
> Sometimes, what we think of ourselves and what others think of us matches. Sometimes, it's quite different. People may think we are a certain way, and act a certain way, while we think quite differently about ourselves. If we're able to think the way others think about us, we might be able to understand their actions, and be able to foresee other actions. The problem comes when we aren't able to know how others think about us. What's worse is when the way someone thinks about us becomes the only way they can think of us, and it becomes so unshakeable that faced with evidence against it, they will still maintain that their view of us is the correct one.

I laughed and shook my head, slamming the car's door closed. I'd barely gotten a foot out of the car, and Kenny and Kyle were already tearing off down the sidewalk towards the school. I felt a little bad for them, even if it was kind of hilarious. Their first period teacher was an ass, and getting to class even right at the bell was liable to get you a tardy slip, or sometimes a detention. I watched them nearly run into each other as they took the corner, their cursing still audible as far away as we were.

"Losers," Cartman snickered, hefting his bag's strap onto his shoulder and heading down the sidewalk after them at a more leisurely pace. He nodded once as he passed me. "Later Stan."

"Later dude," I replied, tossing my own bag onto my shoulder. My first period was psychology, and thankfully our teacher wasn't as anal about punctuality as most of the teachers in the school. Sticking my hands in my pockets, I headed on down the sidewalk opposite the direction the others had taken; the side entrance would be open, and it was closer to my classroom. Besides, that gave me just that little bit of time more to spend outside in what was probably one of the last nice fall days before winter hit us.

"Stan? Aren't you going to be late?"

I stopped at the sound of the voice, about to turn around to look, but a hand to my back pushed me forward, hard, and I started walking again.

"Wendy? Shouldn't I be asking you that?" I asked, turning to see the black haired girl fall in step next to me. She raised an eyebrow, but gave me a grin.

"I have an excuse," She waved a small slip of paper in her hand. "What about you?"

"I have psychology," I answered with a wry grin. Wendy laughed, tucking the slip of paper into her coat pocket.

"Lucky you, then," She shook her head, "I really wanted psychology this semester, I've heard good things about Ms. Wick."

"Lola." I corrected her, and she shot me a puzzled look. "We're to call her Lola in class. She says it helps build connections and understanding between people if they allow each other to call themselves by their first names."

"Well isn't that interesting…" Wendy said, eyes narrowing slightly as she thought. "That would make sense, in some… strange sort of way. I thought psychologists had to maintain some distance…"

"Yes, but apparently Lola doesn't think a psychology teacher has to as well," I shrugged, walking up to the side doors. Grabbing the handle, I opened them with a flourish, grinning at the black haired girl. "After you, Madame."

"Why, merci, Monsieur," Wendy gave a half curtsy, then hopped inside with a giggle. I followed her, giving her a grin as we separated in the hallway.

A few doors down, and I was at my destination. Just as I'd expected, only about two-thirds of the class was present. I walked by the desk, smiling a welcome at Lola, who grinned at me before going back to flipping through the pages of a paperback book. There was a tissue box standing on the corner of the desk, only instead of being filled with tissues, it was full of little slips of paper with different things printed on them. Some had old adages; some were just little snippets that were supposed to be uplifting or something. Whatever the case, we were supposed to take one, look it over or not, whatever we chose to do with it, and give it to another person. During class we would go over a certain part of psychology, and we'd touch on some mental illness or other, and our homework would be to write a reaction to what was written on the slip of paper, acting as if we were affected by the illness we'd talked about. It was interesting, to say the least, and sometimes we'd get called on in class to read our response out loud.

Grabbing a piece of folded paper out of the box, I started towards my seat, wondering whether to open it up or not. Sometimes the things written on the papers were pretty interesting; I had some of the more interesting and thought provoking ones written into my planner. Really, they were the only things I wrote into my planner. I stopped in front of a desk that was still empty and stood the paper on top so that it was a free standing triangle. Leaving it behind, I headed on back towards my desk in the second to last row. A lot of people liked to switch desks each class, but us second-to-last-row-ers liked sitting just where we were; at least it seemed that way. I nodded to the curly-haired goth sitting next to me, and although he seemed pretty intent on his book, he nodded back in a quite friendly manner. Other than Red, he was the only goth who would give me any sort of attention that wasn't disgust, although I could never figure out why. Dropping my bag on the floor next to my desk, I sat down and began to lean over to open my bag. A folded piece of paper on top of my desk caught my eye, and I stopped, puzzled. Usually I didn't get one until most of the class was present; some sort of stigma prevented people from giving a jock something in secret. I never understood what the hell that was all about, but after a few years I'd managed to get used to it. And now this.

Intrigued, I picked the paper up and unfolded it, reading it thoughtfully. Now, there were ways about going about things, but this assignment was pretty straightforward: take a paper, give a paper. There was nothing in it about writing anything on the paper you were giving. Apparently, however, the person who had given me my paper didn't see that as enough of a reason not to write something on the paper. The first line was typed, and stated quite simply, as most of the statements on these papers did, "You are a perceptive person." Underneath that, someone had written in "That's why I don't understand you sometimes." I frowned, confused. I couldn't recognize the handwriting, although that might not have been saying much since I couldn't recognize my own handwriting half the time. I looked out of the corner of my eye to my left, where a brown haired girl was digging through her bag. Susie wasn't exactly a person I spent a lot of time with, definitely not enough time to give her the idea that I was a perceptive person. Actually, if it wasn't for this class, I'd have no idea who she was, at all.

I looked back at the paper, biting my lip thoughtfully. Perceptive. Was I? Was I in tune with people enough to know when something was happening, or to know what they were thinking? Sometimes…

I looked out of the corner of my eye to my right. The curly haired goth had a book open in front of him, and from the black pages and black and white illustrations, it was most likely not our psychology book. He was the only other person in the room, currently, who I could say I'd spent any amount of time talking to. At the moment he was staring ahead of himself with such pointed disinterest that I could probably have pinned the paper on him, except… he almost always had the look on his face in this class.

I looked back at the paper in my hand thoughtfully.

Who couldn't understand me sometimes?

And, hell, what was I missing?

****

I had been heading to lunch, but the only vending machine with Pibb Xtra in it was down by the library. Usually I'd ignore the urge, skip the giant detour I'd have to make, and just choke down a Dr. Pepper to try and get over it, but today there was just no go. Dr. Pepper just wouldn't do it, no soda would. It had to be Pibb.

Cutting out of the busy cafeteria hallway, I took a few corners and climbed the stairs to the library hallway. Heading down the deserted library corridor, whistling quietly to myself, I grinned. I was looking forward to getting to the vending machine, even though it took me an extra ten minutes to get to lunch. Ten extra minutes, which, of course, meant I'd be getting the left over pizza; but even left over pizza tastes better when you have a good drink, so I was fully willing to commit such a sacrifice.

"Dammit, Kyle, what the fuck did I tell you?"

I could have missed it, and probably would have, if it hadn't been for Kyle's name, and the fact that, although low and hissed, that voice was just too damn familiar. I frowned, stopped right before a junction in the hallway, wondering if I was hearing things.

"Shut up, all right? I know what the hell I'm—"

"You don't know shit, you know that—"

"Stop cutting me the fuck off!"

"I would if you'd just start listening to me you ass—"

"If you had a fucking idea about what you were talking about, maybe I would—"

The voices had been getting louder, so I wasn't too surprised to see Kyle round the corner, looking harried, his hands in his pants pockets. Kenny turned the corner right behind him, looking about ready to snap something back at him, but they both stopped suddenly, staring at me. I raised an eyebrow, but both of them suddenly looked like they were wishing they were somewhere else.

"Uh, hey guys," I managed a grin, trying to pretend I hadn't just heard what I had. It was obvious they hadn't wanted anyone to overhear. Kyle gave me a pained grin, scuffing his boot against the floor slightly. Kenny recovered more easily, shooting me a bright grin and leaning an elbow on Kyle's shoulder. The redhead looked a little annoyed at the gesture, but he didn't move, resigned himself to almost-but-not-quite glaring at a spot on the wall.

"Hey dude! What're you doing here, trying to get in some study time?" Kenny smirked, "I dunno, seems a little odd for Mr. Jock to be spending lunch in the library…"

"Shut up, I'm here for the Pibb," I replied, taking a few steps forward and nodding towards the machine at the end of the hall.

"Hell yeah! I totally forgot!" Kenny dropped his hands to his pockets, digging around for change. Kyle rolled his eyes; he didn't look so flustered anymore, but he hadn't taken his hands out of his pockets, and there was still this… well, poisoned air, I guess, around him.

"I'm going to go to the caf before everything's bought out," He muttered, starting down the hallway. He managed to give me a grin as he passed, although it didn't look like it came too easily.

"Kyle, get me some curly fries!" Kenny called after him, looking up from counting out dimes and nickels. "Dammit! Did you hear me?"

Kyle turned around only long enough to flip him the bird, and kept on going.

"I think he heard you," I said, smirking, and Kenny stuck his tongue out at me.

"Fuck off, Stan," The blonde snapped back, but he fell in step as we headed towards the vending machine. "Shit, hey, can I borrow a quarter?"

****

"You know, you're never around when someone wants to talk to you," I said, fixing my chin strap. Leaning against the side of the doorway, I looked down at Red where he sat on the floor, his back to the wall. He paused in his writing, tilted his head up to give me a strange look.

"What?" He looked slightly annoyed, an expression I was starting to know quite well since he seemed to wear it more and more often around me. He still had the hat, even though the day was overcast, and I had a hard time making eye contact.

"Like, all right, I'm just not going to play anymore, since –" I got cut off with a shove from behind, nearly fell over as my teammates started dashing out of the locker room. There wasn't much time before the game started; scratch that, there was no time. Cheers and screams were coming from down the hallway where it opened out onto the field, and my running back was waving both arms and screaming at me to hurry up. "You know, I figured, you'll just tell me when you feel like it, right? Like, I shouldn't be so nosey, or something…"

I tried to grin at Red, but he'd dipped his head just a little, and while I wouldn't have minded getting down and face to face with him, I now had more than one person screaming my name in the hallway. I grimaced, looking over at the three, no, now four guys that were trying to get me to hurry up.

"Look, I'll just catch you later, okay?" I told Red, but he still didn't respond, and while I wasn't sure what kind of sign that was, good or bad, I didn't have time to dwell on it. Jogging down the hallway, I got pulled out onto the field just in time to hear the announcer start calling our team's name.

**

The game went amazingly. Hell, the last two games had, ever since the Kougars handed us our asses. It wasn't enough to land us a spot in the finals, but dammit, it was better than dragging ourselves to the end. I kicked at a loose piece of turf and glanced up into the darkened sky. What the hell I had with sitting around after a game was over to see the sky go dark, I don't know, but it was fun, in some strange way. I just liked to see the way the colors changed, the way the sky went from blue, to dark blue, to some strange sort of indigo, most often streaked with orange-pink streaks of cloud, right before it struck deep purple, and finally, an almost black that never seemed dark enough.

I was alone. I hummed to myself as I walked towards the parking lot, eyes still focused up on the sky, but the notes seemed off. I tried to get myself to think of the game, and the plays, and how we'd managed to dominate the field, but it all kept slipping away from my grasp. I had dozens of different reasons in my head for why I was there, all by myself, in an empty lot heading towards an empty car, but they all felt hollow. They were lacking. Funny, I felt a little lacking in something myself.

My car; I opened the trunk and tossed my crap inside, slamming the lid closed. The thud reverberated around the lot, bouncing off the backs of the bleachers on one side and the gymnasium on the other. I walked slowly to the driver's seat, twirling my keys around on one finger. I was trying to find constellations, but all I could recognize was Orion's belt, and maybe his shoulders and hips if I squinted. I remembered the books always showing him with his club, but I could never find it myself. Pulling the door open, I dropped into the driver's seat, and found myself staring out the windshield for a few good minutes. I realized that if I was going to drive, I should probably close the door, and put my seatbelt on as well. After that it was only logical to put the key in the ignition and turn.

The engine turned over, caught, roared in the only way a V4 pretending to be a mean ol' V8 can. I let it idle for a little bit, listening to the comforting sounds of an engine running true and good. Turning my gaze to the glove box, I frowned. I reached out, opened it up and let the CD's spill out as I dug through them. Feeling particularly rebellious, I shoved All American Rejects into the CD slot and turned up the volume. It got me out of the lot fast, as I pushed the pedal to speed up along with the songs. The little Civic roared down the road towards home as I pumped the volume even louder.

I sang my way through "Dirty Little Secret" and "It Ends Tonight", and was just halfway through "Stab My Back" when I jabbed the eject button, rolled down my window, and whipped the CD as hard as I could through it. A minute of air roaring through the sudden silence in the car, and then I braked hard, nearly skidding, and pulled over to the side. Crossing my arms over the steering wheel, I dropped my forehead to them and tried to stop thinking.

Perceptive. That's me.


	5. In Vein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, grammar was not that important this time around, although spelling and proper word usage was. You'll see what I mean, and hopefully, you won't be, mmm, discouraged. If you read it and understand what I was going for (and you go ahead and let me know if you did in a review) then you probably have a good idea of how I write stuff.
> 
> Other than that? Hm, we're getting there. There, being, well, the place where we're supposed to be at. Of course.
> 
> Please? I'd really like your opinions on this chapter, even more so than the previous ones. I've warned you all before of style changes, and such, so this shouldn't be too much of a shocker.  
> Also, I feel you should all know while writing this story my "P" button decided it did not want to be part of the keyboard anymore.
> 
> Oh, and yeah, this chapter came out to 9 pages on Word. I guess I wanted to make up for the smaller chapters before, subconsciously.

Tick…Tock. Tick…Tock.

Tick…Tock.

Tick.

****

Friday night was the night. THE night. The night winter decided it would actually come. Which meant knee deep snowdrifts, gusting winds, and of course, Clyde's annual "Winter's Here Let's All Get Trashed" party. Now, for the past two years, thanks to unpredictable and uncooperative weather, the party was forced to take place during the week, leading to lots of blown tests, pissed off parents, and an elevated absence rate at school. This year, winter seemed to have taken pity on the teenagers of Park County High School, and proceeded, in true South Park winter fashion, to dump a foot of powdery snow over everything the day before the weekend. As if winter coming on a Friday wasn't great enough, Clyde's parent's had jumped on the chance to take a quick three day trip to scenic Aspen and pretend they had no idea what was going on, supposedly behind their backs.

Cartman had come over to my house a few hours earlier. He said it was to help study for our Spanish test on Monday, but considering he was now seated quite happily in the passenger's side seat of my car, I'd say it was safe to say that he'd had ulterior motives. Of course, the usage of "happily" was relative; he was only happy when you considered where he was seated. Overall, he wasn't happy, much like the rest of the occupants in the car.

I tapped my fingers along the steering wheel as I waited at a red light, and attempted not to look into the rearview window. I was feeling a bit low myself that day, no need to make it worse. Cartman was scowling out the windshield, but he didn't seem any more willing to shoot a glance towards the backseat than I was. I could practically feel the seats melting from the seething anger concentrated in the back. Taking a deep breath, perfectly aware I was risking burns, I glanced up at the rearview window finally. Kenny was glaring out the left rear window, one hand tugging violently at threads coming loose from the hole in his jeans. He looked like he was muttering something to himself, but, thankfully, I couldn't hear him over the sounds of the Descendents blaring through the car's speakers. Kyle was on the other side, scrunched up as close to the door as he could get, as if he didn't want to be any closer to the blond than he had to be. While his eyes were burning, there was a pained look on his face, and one of his hands was clutching at his head tightly. I wondered if maybe his head hurt, and if I shouldn't turn the music down a little, but a glance at Kenny kept me quiet. No need to stoke the fire, I figured, and decided that focusing on driving would be a much healthier choice.

Clyde's house was situated towards the more upscale part of town. A few years back his dad had hit it big with some sort of marketing scheme, and earned himself the right to manage not only the shoe store in South Park, but three or four other stores, two of them in Denver. Ever since then Clyde's family had been steadily moving up in the ranks of the South Park upper class, as small as it was, and their newest house was a testament to it. The place was half a mansion practically, with a huge lawn in front and a giant, swirly pool out back. I pulled into a spot in front of the Donovan's front lawn, wincing as two doors opened and slammed closed as soon as the car came to a stop. Cartman let out a deep breath, and I looked over at him. He gave me the kind of look I expected from a bomb-squad member who'd just survived defusing a bomb, and opened his own door. I cut the engine, pocketing the keys as I got out of the car.

Kyle was already trudging across the snow-covered lawn towards the open front doors of the house, weaving among the cars that had clogged the driveway, and Cartman was following him, albeit at a much slower pace. I was surprised to see that Kenny wasn't anywhere near them, and I would've missed him if the scent of cigarette smoke hadn't reached me. Looking around curiously, I noticed the tell tale gray haze coming from the back of my car, and headed around to take a look. Kenny was sitting on the ground, back to the cars bumper, and angrily puffing away at a cigarette. It wasn't that I was shocked to see him smoking; I could remember quite well asking a ten year old Kenny to blow smoke bubbles with the stupid little bubble wands our moms would get us to keep us busy on summer nights. Still, I hadn't seen the blonde with a cancer stick in ages, probably, and it threw me off a little.

"I'll be there in a minute," Kenny growled, and although I would rather have stayed out with him, I figured some alone time probably wouldn't hurt.

"All right, I'll save you a bottle," I said, and thankfully received a grin in return. I headed towards the house, trying to make a mental list of the people I could expect to see based on the cars crowding the driveway. There were too many Buicks for my taste; I didn't exactly know the people who drove them, but I got the feeling I wouldn't like them if I did meet them. What I had against Buicks, I don't know. Finally reaching the open doors, I knocked the snow off my boots and headed in, unzipping my coat and looking for a place to toss it. A closet stood open in the foyer, and I had the luck to find a vacant coat hanger. Shoving my coat onto the overstuffed pole, I headed deeper into the house, which got both warmer and louder at every step.

"STAN!" Clyde pushed his way through a group of people at the base of the stairs and headed towards me. "Dude, it's about freaking time you got here!"

"Well, I'm here now, so the party can finally start," I joked, grinning. Clyde clapped me on the back, a little harder than usually, but considering the can of beer in his hand probably wasn't his first I considered myself lucky. Clyde was a big guy, with broad shoulders, and I regretted not having him on the football team the last two years.

"All right!" Clyde grinned happily, shoving me into the living room before him, "Dude, there's coolers, like, everywhere. Just, everywhere. Go crazy!"

"Clyde! It's snowing!" Some guy yelled out from near the front window. The large brunette next to me gave out a yell, and most of the people in the nearby regions of the house responded with cheers and whistles. I managed to sidestep away from Clyde as a group of guys tackled him, a happy little scuffle starting up as they all landed on the floor, and each other. Taking a glance around, I didn't notice either Kyle or Cartman, but I wasn't worried; they knew how to handle themselves, and as long as they were at the car in the morning, I didn't really care what kind of trouble they got themselves into. Well, as long as it didn't involve unexplainable injuries, or the cops.

"Here you go Stan," A can of PBR found my hand, and the sweet voice continued purring in my ear. "Good to see you finally made it."

I turned in time to see Bebe slip away into the crowd, with a sultry grin and a wink, hips rocking in her tight and much-too-short mini. I watched her go, head tilting as she turned a corner. Hot damn, slut or not, the girl had some fine ass curves on her. Shaking my head, grinning at myself more than anything else, I popped the tab on the can and took a swig of beer. The sooner I got wasted the better. Just, not on PBR.

"Goddammit, where the hell is the good stuff?" I muttered, trying to find a cooler. Trust Bebe to get you the worst beer out of all the choices Clyde had. At least it was cold.

I shoved past a few people, returning "Heys" and waving at others across the room. More than once I was stopped by either an over-excited half-drunk guy who wanted to do some super secret handshake I had no knowledge about before that moment, or by one of the long-legged, busty cheerleaders who apparently could not get enough of me at practice. I managed to get the last girl's hands off my crotch by shoving the now nearly empty beer can at her, and maneuvered towards what looked like a slightly less populated hallway.

Slightly less populated, as it turned out, because it led to the laundry room, and the only people going to there weren't looking for an audience. It was a good place to find, it turned out, as I spotted the edge of a cooler peeking out from behind a corner in the hallway. I headed down it, passing some people that I actually didn't know, and reached down to open the cooler before I'd even turned the corner. I got the cover open about an inch before it got slammed down, nearly taking a piece of my finger with it.

"Dammit!" I glared at whoever was hogging the cold box.

"Get your own fucking cooler," Kyle growled at me. He was sitting on the floor, legs pulled close nearly to his chest, and balancing a half-bottle of Jack Daniels on one knee.

"Dude. Don't be a beer hog," I crouched down on my side of the box, crossing my arms on the cover. He raised an eyebrow, one arm still laying across the top of the cooler.

"Fuck it, take one then. I dare you." He said, but his eyes said something else. I wasn't about to get on his bad side, especially when that meant getting a cooler lid slammed onto my arm. Instead I looked at him, closely. Overall, he wasn't looking good. He had bags under his eyes, and that same slight grimace of pain he'd had in the car.

"What's wrong? You look like shit…" I said finally, and Kyle shrugged, taking a swig of beer.

"Nothing," He said, leaning his head back and letting his eyes close halfway.

"Nothing is why you're sitting in a half-dark hallway by the laundry room, guarding a cooler full of beer?" I asked, and he snorted, sending a grin my way. He looked at me finally with something like amiability, and smacked my arms to get me to take them off the cooler.

"My head fucking hurts, that's all," He opened the cooler top, and held it open as I dug around in the ice. I finally found two bottles of JD and pulled them out.

"You all right? It looks like it's got you pretty bad…" I eyed him curiously, but he waved a hand at me, downing the rest of the beer in one gulp. Tossing the bottle aside carelessly he dug in the cooler himself.

"Nah, took some aspirin, I'll be fine," He pulled out a bottle of Sam Adams this time. Looking at the label for a second, he shrugged, and popped the cap off against the edge of the cooler before closing the lid.

"Oh yeah, meds and alcohol. Nice mix, KB," I said, chuckling, and he laughed. I stood up, shoving one bottle in my back pocket. Thank god for relaxed fit jeans. "You better not sit here getting drunk all night…"

"I'll get to the fucking party, don't you worry," He grinned at me, and I smiled back. With a final wave I turned around and headed back towards the main rooms. Music was blasting from speakers on the walls, and someone had changed it to some trippy euro-beats. I could barely hear my own thoughts, so anything anyone said to me was met with a grin and a nod. Thankfully, no one seemed to be saying anything nasty, and everyone who ran into me, and sometimes it was a literal run in, left with a smile on their faces.

I borrowed a bottle opener from one of my teammates, although I was a little surprised he heard me between the two pairs of cheerleader boobs crowding his head. Thankfully I managed to get away before the girls felt they needed to boost the quarterback's morale as well, and got to drinking. Downing that first bottle wasn't that difficult, especially since I was surrounded by dozens of idiots with identical grins plastered on their faces. I was one bottle in and already wondering what the hell everyone thought was so great and wonderful. Bad news; the self-doubt and feelings of worthlessness usually didn't hit until the fourth or fifth.

I'd tossed my empty bottle towards a standing garbage can, and starting to consider whether or not to start on the one stashed in my pocket, when I finally saw Kenny. Or rather, I saw evidence of Kenny. A giggling girl dashed past me, squealing, and I stuck out my arm in time to catch the blond as he was about to chase after her.

"Dammit, Stan," He gasped, glaring at me. I grinned, pulling the bottle out of my pocket and handing it over.

"You're lucky I didn't drink it already," I said, popping the cap off his beer with the opener and returning it to my pocket; I foresaw much more use coming out of it in the near future. "From what I hear all the good stuff's nearly gone."

"What?" Kenny paused only long enough to take a chug, "What the hell, we just got here…"

"It's Friday, what'd you expect?" I laughed, giving him a shove. He pushed me back, grinning, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Dude, thanks," Kenny raised the bottle as if in salute, "But if you stop me from chasing booty again tonight, I'll kick your fucking jock ass."

I raised my hands in defeat, and he headed off, following a nice pair of legs as they passed. Perfectly fine with me, I didn't exactly feel the need to be social tonight. Somehow I managed to drag my way past a group of people surrounding the couch and next to the large cooler in the living room. Thankfully, no one was hogging this cold box, and I snagged another three bottles; one for each back pocket, and one to drink. A flawless plan, and I've pulled it off before. Well, usually. As long as no one tried to tackle me, and as long as I managed to dodge those who did, I'd be fine. Popping the cap, I took a swig, grimacing at the taste. I had no idea what it was, but I didn't care. People were laughing around me, dancing the can-can on the couch, and the sooner I got too drunk to see straight the better.

****

I don't know how many beers I'd downed, but it seemed that putting back one more, and then one more after that, just seemed like a good idea. People were crowding everywhere, and between seeing doubles of everything, and not being able to walk in a straight line, I found myself staggering along the walls more often than not. It was easier not to fall when you had something solid at your back. It was easier not to get groped when you had something solid at your back as well.

I grabbed an abandoned bottle off a nearby table; it was still half full, and that was more than enough for me. Not thinking was easy when you're drowned in alcohol; no, that wasn't right. What was right was that I couldn't stop my thoughts from going places I wasn't sure they were supposed to be going. It was easier ignoring things when you're sober, there's control involved. Alcohol was supposed to be my savior, but for the past year all it's done is dig me in a deeper hole. I should've learned by now, but I was finding these flights into those rarely touched on corners of my mind just a bit entrancing. I knew where I was going to go. I was an ass. The more I drank the less I was able to keep myself from going there. The more I drank the less I cared about keeping myself away.

I found Cartman, somewhere. Somehow. I babbled about earthly limitations and humanity and how the hell anything was the way it was supposed to be if we were just a few months from eighteen and still had no idea how to make ourselves do things we wanted to do and why the hell were boxers hanging from the chandelier. Somewhere between checking to see if they were my boxers and ranting on the limitations of people's expectations of who we were supposed to be I realized that I was talking to a lamp and that I wasn't in the den anymore. For a while after I found myself hounded by hands, hands, I didn't know where they were coming from, or who they belonged to, but I didn't want to be anywhere near them. A dark haired, dark eyed busty lady cornered me in the game room; she was wearing black on black on black and it threw me, I'll be honest, and with her lips on mine and her hands weaving up under my shirt, I was surprised to find my brain screaming at me, but it did it anyway. I got out of there, my shirt hanging loose, trying to figure out if my fly was open or not and bumping into more people than actually were in the hallways. I thought I'd be able to get past it, or something, past anything, dammit, if everybody just stopped laughing for a minute.

Nothing would help it, at this point; it was becoming tradition. The second doorway on the left on the second floor; bedroom, bathroom, it was starting to matter less and less where we'd find ourselves, and with Bebe straddling me in the bathtub, skillful fingers already having pulled my shirt half off and descended to undo my belt buckle before I'd even finished the last gulp of beer in the can my thoughts were starting to matter less and less. Less. Goddamn, stop it. I dragged her down to me, crashing my lips into hers, feeling her half-naked body writhe against me, her tongue dipping into my mouth. I couldn't taste anything but sour beer and something like nachos; her hands were going south faster than I thought she could but her skin was cold and her tongue was cold and I didn't moan so much as whimper. Make it work, I practically begged her, my fingers dug into her back, rocking into her hands, make it work. Make it work. She was so cold.

I'd shoved her away thoughtlessly. When my eyes opened to the pale cream tiles of the ceiling above me I was as surprised as she was. Her mouth was a little 'o', as if she were in the middle of some sort of grand epiphany, but I was pulling myself out of the bathtub, the damned too deep bathtub, and I wasn't going to listen to whatever she was going to say. Out, and onto the floor, and with more alcohol in my system than I'd had in a while and my pants around my knees I was still surprised to find myself falling face first onto the cold tiles of the floor, elbow cracking hard against the toilet seat. I writhed there for a moment, trying to ignore the pain flaring up my arm and pull my pants back up. Bebe was sliding around in the bathtub, her face appearing suddenly above its edge, flushed and confused, her arm reaching out to point a finger at me accusingly. Accusingly. Did she know? My pants slipped up too easily; I'd slap a hand on my crotch myself if I thought it would tell me something other than what I knew. Her magic didn't work this time. Somehow I knew it wouldn't. Somehow I thought it would.

I pulled myself off the floor, left Bebe in the bathtub with that look on her face like she was trying to take apart all the problems in the world. Out, out, down the staircase, dammit, and not falling this time. Kenny called to me from a group, I think it was Kenny, with his blond hair messed up into a glorified halo, his eyes shining with too much booze and gratuitous lust, and I shied away, sliding along the wall towards the front of the house, down the hallway. Out, out. I got to the closet, dammit, I got there. I wanted to sob. Fate was a bitch, bitch, and I pulled out almost all the coats before finding mine, hanging pleased as can be on its stupid little hangar. Kicked the rest of the coats back into the closet. Pulled the coat on. The door.

Cold air has the amazing ability to sober on contact. I shook instantly, with my coat zipped up beneath my chin and my hands in my pockets. I was hot but I was shaking and I tried to find Orion but the sky above was cloudy. I couldn't see, so I stumbled off across the lawn, through snow I was almost glad was there. At knee high—higher? – it somehow kept me from stumbling more than I should have been. A fact, yes, one that I didn't appreciate until I'd reached the sidewalk, with its lower level of snow, and stumbled so bad I nearly cracked my head open on my own car.

I was sitting in the snow. This was obviously a bad move, but not a conscious one. It was probably better than cracking my head open on my own car. I stood up, gripping the handle on the back door to help. There was a thick layer of white on the Civic, and I could only barely make out where the windows were. I took a few deep breaths, trying to get my reeling head from blasting off to space. Two steps down the sidewalk, and I was on my knees, stomach heaving, brain headed out somewhere between Neptune and Pluto.

Dammit. Pluto wasn't even a planet, was it? I shuddered, got the great idea of stuffing snow in my mouth to kill the taste. Struggling to my feet, I sidestepped, shuffled more like it, around the puddle of vomit melting through the snow next to my car, and stumbled onward. My hands stuffed themselves into my pockets again. I pulled them out holding my car keys, some lint, some change, and a piece of gum. Well, then. Why not. Almost dropping the keys and change, I managed to get the gum into my mouth and dropped the rest back into my pockets. Shuddered again. Damn winter, damn everything. Damn. Everything.

I stopped suddenly. I was thinking clearer, at least. That didn't help when I looked back and realized I'd walked farther than I'd thought, and didn't know where in hell I was anymore. A sudden blast of wind made me regret walking outside at all. Cold, cold. Just like Bebe. I shuddered, closing my eyes. Wincing. She didn't work, not anymore. She didn't work anymore, and if she didn't work, would anything?

I was tired, I realized. So damn tired. Maybe what I was trying to tell Cartman, or the lamp, was true. Maybe it was time to start making decisions, start doing what I wanted to do. I opened my eyes; the world spun around me. I stumbled off again, desperately wishing, wishing…

I better forget this all in the morning. All of it. The not-being-able-to-stop-thinking-about-it part. The I-don't-really-want-to-stop-thinking-about-it part. The there's-a-giant-fucking-piece-of-me-missing-in-the-middle part. The I-know-exactly-what-needs-to-be-there part.

I rubbed my face, and it was wet, and it wasn't snowing. At all.

I wanted out.

So I took a turn at the signpost that wasn't actually covered in snow, and counted the blocks and took the turn at the oak tree that got split by a lightning bolt when I was fifteen and headed down to stop in front of a fence of a house that looked too cheery for my mood that evening. Night. Morning. What the hell time was it, anyways? I leaned on the wooden picket fence, nearly falling over it before I realized it was only three feet high, and tried to look at my watch. The watch I would be wearing on my right arm, I thought. Unless it was my left arm. Although, it didn't really much matter, with the way my hands were shaking I wasn't able to lift either one of my sleeves, so I started laughing instead, which seemed a little strange.

"Stan?"

I jerked around at the voice, which was a mistake. Or, almost a mistake. I might have saved some of my dignity by catching hold of the fence before I went face forward over it, but then again I might have lost more than I saved by bending nearly all the way over it as I tried to stop myself. Pushing myself back up into as good a standing position I could, I squinted and pointed a finger at stupid Red standing on the other side of the stupid fence with his stupid hair and his stupid hat that looked so good on his stupid self.

"Fuck you." I meant it. And just to make sure he knew I meant it, I shook my finger at him as well. Menacingly, I thought. He looked… well, I couldn't tell how he looked, since I was having trouble focusing with the blurriness and the darkness outside.

"It's almost midnight." He said, evenly. Evenly.

"Well then," I answered right back, dropping both hands to steady myself on the fence.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. Evenly, again. Steadily, as that is also a word I could use.

"I'll… I'll tell you what… dammit…" I assured him, walking along the fence. "As… as soon as I… damn… find the gate."

"A little to your left," Red supplied, and I stumbled in the direction he indicated, realized I was heading in the wrong left direction, and stumbled back the other way. The gate found, I opened it like I owned it, or at least knew how it worked, and stumbled on through. Turning to face him was tricky on the snowy ground, with no fence nearby to help, but I managed it.

"You." I said it clearly, in case he was thinking I was talking about someone else. Just to make sure he understood, however, I said it again. "You. Left on the bus."

"…I did…" He answered, slowly. Maybe he thought I wouldn't get it. I got it, all right.

"I was… supp… supposed to talk to you," I reminded him, "But you left. On the bus."

There was a long pause before he replied, during which I shook and wondered why since I didn't feel cold at all. I couldn't feel my fingers.

"You're drunk." He stated. It wasn't even a question. Usually people give me the benefit of the doubt.

"Well, you. You. Are stupid." I stated, just as well. I think he might've sighed, but I couldn't hear well over my chattering teeth.

"You came from the party?" He asked. I might've grinned, I don't know. It was a question! One I could answer.

"Yes." I said, vaguely wondering if I would be graded. No, wait, that was in school. "Why do you live so f…far away?"

Red wasn't listening to me, or at least I didn't think he was. He was looking out past the fence, his head moving like he was looking for something, and then he was looking at me again. I thought I could focus his face this time; it looked… kind of… surprised or something.

"You walked?"

I would've answered; that was another question I'd get right. The scenery changed before I could, and I found myself being dragged, or maybe pushed, with the house that was still looking too damn cheery for my mood straight in front of me.

"Wait, what? What?" I tried to look around, but then I was forced up steps and it took all my concentration, and an arm across Red's shoulders, to get up them. I leaned on the wall next to the door as he pulled out his keys. Frowned. Reached out and grabbed the hat off of his head. Wobbling a bit, I managed to put on myself.

"This stupid hat won't help in this kind of weather," I mumbled, trying to figure out how to get it to sit on my head right.

"Shut up," Red pulled me into his house before I got a good look of his face, but I thought it was closer to a glare than I'd ever seen before.

Inside it was dark, no lights on anywhere. I stumbled forward on my own, and was rewarded by running into the coffee table. Dammit, I swallowed my gum too. Red appeared out of nowhere, muttering something under his breath, and dragged me onward through his house. Somehow we managed not to run into anything, much, but I swear that wall came out of nowhere. At least I still had the hat on my head when he pushed me into his room.

He closed the door, and there was darkness everywhere before a light flickered on. It was a small lamp on the bedside table, a cool one with a lampshade with spiders and spider web designs on a deep orange-red background. I stared at it for a long moment; it was mesmerizing.

"Why are you here?" Red asked, and made me turn around too fast for the second time that night. I found myself seated on the floor, facing him where he sat on the edge of his bed. At least his rug was pretty thick, although I was sure my ass would beg to differ. I grinned. He didn't look amused.

"Where were you going?" I asked. Then realized I hadn't answered his question. He frowned, I could see him a bit more clearly now.

"Doesn't matter." He was a bit snappy. I wondered why. I wondered why he had been wearing the hat that wouldn't do him too much good in this weather.

"So, like…" I started, stopped. He was giving me a strange look. I wondered what I was doing there. "… and yeah, I really didn't like All American Rejects anyway…"

"…What?" He looked tired all of a sudden, and thoroughly lost.

"I threw it out my window." I added, since it seemed to be missing in my previous sentence.

"You threw what out…" He stopped himself, and that strange look came back to his face. He crossed his arms on his knees and stared at me.

It was getting a little hard to sit up without any support, so I pulled myself over next to the bed, leaned back against the bedside table so I could still look at Red without having to twist my neck around. He was starting to look a little sad, and that was starting to scare me, just a little, because usually he looked detached, and apathetic, and he could really start looking annoyed when I was involved, but that was about as far as his range of facial expressions went. It was making words boil up in my head that I was trying not to get out of my mouth but alcohol had been letting me down lately so what the hell, why not tonight as well?

"You still got your coat on," I noted, keeping myself in check. I didn't know what I was doing here. Things were getting to me a lot slower than I wanted them to.

"So do you," Red answered. I shrugged, stared down at my zipper and tried to figure out which arm I was supposed to pull out first. No, first the zipper, then the arms. I might've flailed around a bit, but I got the coat off. I looked up at Red, but he was still sitting as he had been, coat still on.

"Wait." Sudden realization made me grab my coat again. "Dammit. Home."

"Stop."

I did, looked up at Red curiously. He sighed, and I heard him this time.

"You're not going anywhere." He said, unzipping his own coat. "You're drunk. You'll probably get lost and freeze to death."

He stood up, shrugging out of his coat, and walked over to pick mine up. I watched him, entranced. I was way past the point of lying by now. I was way past the point of caring. It was too damn hard to be cold for so long. So long. Dammit, black on black on black didn't do it for me. I mean, it wasn't the key to my libido. It wasn't going to open any doors. There was light glinting of the D-rings sewed into the front of his sleeveless shirt, though, and I could always blame that for not being able to look away. That and not the play of the fishnet moving over his arms as he tossed both our coats onto a chair in the corner of the room. He turned around, flicking his bangs out of his eyes as he headed back towards the bed, and I grinned. And he stopped, gave me that look again, that wasn't looking quite so strange this time. I couldn't stop grinning, and he finally sat down on the bed again. He looked at me, sort of, and sort of fiddled with the leather bracer on his left arm.

"Because, you know, Bebe," I started, gripping the comforter on the bed and trying to pull myself up. I managed to get myself halfway up somehow before I realized I should probably use my legs to help. I looked over to see if I could get any help from Red, but he wasn't looking at me, but at some spot somewhere in front of him, so I dug my boots into the rug and tried again. The world reeled for a second, and I lay face down on the bed, inhaling the scent of smoke tinged with cloves, and heavy incense, and I kind of wished I wouldn't have to move for a long, long time. My mind started screaming at me again; I never understood how it got these things before I did.

"Bebe's like… all over. All over. Me, usually…" I pushed myself up, managing to twist myself somehow so that I was facing Red's back. Which was wrong, so I scooted over to the edge of the bed and got my feet on the floor. Hah, firm foundation. I turned to him, but he was still looking out somewhere. He was frowning, not bad like, but he was doing a number on that leather bracer of his. "Like tonight. Totally. But, you know, she was cold."

I paused; did he know? The cold? Did he know what it was like? I wavered slightly; what if I was all wrong? What if, what if…

"You know, how.. it's like, cold. Everywhere. Everything's cold." I scooted closer to him, hips practically touching. "Do you know?"

He wasn't responding, and from this angle I couldn't tell what his expression was. I couldn't tell if he was listening to me. I leaned a little closer, trying to get a peek of his face.

"Red?" I asked, surprised to hear my voice come out softer, surprised to hear it wavering a little. I could deal with action; I couldn't deal with him being all quiet. Sometimes I thought I couldn't deal with him, at all, but then I thought I couldn't deal without him, either, and that's when my brain usually shut down and I fell asleep.

"What?" He snapped, finally, and jerked around to face me.

Well, I hadn't realized how close I'd gotten to him. And he probably hadn't either. Half an inch, and we'd be bumping noses. I was staring into his eyes, and I couldn't decide whether they were a really, really dark brown, or some sort of shade of black, which wouldn't make sense, but it didn't really matter. They were his eyes. And they were, at that moment, entirely and wholly open. And behind that openness, beyond the surprise, there was hurt. And a shade of gray that seemed to match the same coldness I've been trying to run from. His breath was on my lips.

I didn't know about time then; no fast forward or slow down or staccato dance.

My eyes were closed; my lips were pressing against his, desperately. Hungrily. I was pushing against him so hard I thought we were both going to fall over, or maybe we did, my head was spinning so bad, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. I didn't want to tell the difference. Oh, hell. Oh hell. I could hear my heart, but it was in my ears, and I didn't know if that was a good sign or not.

I pulled away because I was scared. No, scratch that. I was terrified. I wanted out, again, only I didn't think the cold outside could do too much with the burning that was starting up somewhere. I thought I was shaking. I couldn't be sure. I could be sure, however, of the fact that I couldn't pull away more than an inch, and I could also be sure that the reason I couldn't pull away more than an inch was because someone had their hand on the back of my head.

I opened my eyes; I was shaking. I was looking into Red's eyes again, desperately. My hands found his waist, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. I could feel him beneath it.

"I'm doing this because I'm drunk—NO." I cut myself off, eyes closing, clenched my fingers in his shirt desperately. I could feel his fingers moving in my hair, I could feel him pull the hat off of my head. "No, that's not… I'm drunk, but that's not… I mean…"

"Shhh…" Red pressed his forehead against mine; I shuddered at his movements, shivered as his lips touched across my cheek, my jawline.

"I'm stupid…" I whispered it, pulled closer to him, wrapped my arms around his waist as he pushed himself closer as well. "I'm an ass. I'm slow."

I pressed my face against his neck, breathed in the scent of smoke and something spicy. I wanted to kiss him, but then I realized I already was, lips on his neck, sucking softly. I could feel him shudder against me; his hands were tangling in my hair almost painfully. I was pretty sure I wanted to bite him, just to see, and I did, right above the shirt's neckline, and maybe a little too hard, but his gasp turned into a low moan, and the fire flared somewhere inside. I pulled away from his neck, found his lips again. Crushed against him, lips and body and everything, and it was sloppy, I knew it, and I wished I wasn't drunk. I wished I wasn't drunk. Then his tongue was in my mouth, and I wasn't wishing anything anymore, except that maybe this might never end. My hands fumbled along his sides, trying desperately to find the edge of his shirt, but I kept getting distracted by the tongue stud I never really noticed before. My fingers found the edge finally, and I ran my hands up his side, reveling in the texture of the fishnet shirt stretched taut across his skin.

We were apart, suddenly, he'd pulled away. Hands were tugging at my shirt, pulling it up over my body, and reluctant as I was to do it I pulled my hands out from under his shirt and gave him a hand. My shirt went… somewhere, and suddenly I was on my back, staring up at the dark ceiling and the goth who was now straddling my hips, panting slightly. My hands found his knees, and I wouldn't have minded if they went on to find more, dammit. Dammit. I wanted him down here, but instead he was unbuckling the bracer on his left arm, all three buckles, sliding the leather strap out of each one before finally pulling the whole thing off and tossing it aside. He looked at me, eyes dark, smoldering. A smile flickered across his face; my fingers clenched slightly on his knees, my breath hitching. His hand slid his shirt's zipper down, and with a shrug and a slight twist he slipped it off and tossed it aside. Nothing now but that fishnet shirt underneath, black lines intersecting all across his pale skin. He paused for a moment, but then his hands were pulling that off as well, discarding it as easily as all the rest. Nothing now, nothing but him, him and his creamy skin, the faint lines of the last of his ribs, the small dark dot on his hip right above the edge of his pants.

I didn't know where to look, but then his face was in mine and his lips were on mine and his body was pressing against me, hard, and my arms were around him, and I was pressing up against him, hips rolling against his. Oh god. I moaned into his mouth; I was clawing his back, I knew it, I couldn't stop. His hands were on me, everywhere, everywhere, I couldn't keep track of anything, not his moving, not the way he was grinding against me as desperately as I was grinding against him, our hips trying to find some rhythm in the frenzy. He was hot. His skin was hot. His tongue, twisting against mine, was hot.

Oh fuck.


	6. Prayers for Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of things going on that are creating more questions than answers. Not all questions will be answered, or can be answered. Some of you have put forth your own theories of things, and I love it. I love it so much, so if you have a theory to put forth, go ahead! I'd love to see how you are all understanding this, and I encourage you to take this story apart into little itty bitty pieces and put it back together.

It was cold all of a sudden. I shifted slightly, the covers moving softly over the naked skin of my back. A dull ache in the back of my head did its best to remind me of last night. Last night. I cracked open an eye, getting a close up view of dark sheets. Not black, but close. I frowned; this wasn't my bed. With a grimace I turned over to my side, looking around. One good thing, there was a significant lack of bright light even though I was pretty sure the sun should be up by now; my eyes were thankful for it all the same. The wall across from me was painted black; definitely not my room. There was an antique looking dresser, with heavy clawed feet, standing against it. The room was dark, the bed sheets were dark, and there was a heavy smell of incense and smoke in the room.

I sat up quickly, my head giving a feeble whirl. Last night, the party, everything after the party. Red. I ran my fingers through my messy hair, rubbed my face. I still had my pants on, I noticed, and my boots were off. And I seemed to be alone. I swung my legs off the edge of the bed, sat there looking around for a long moment. It wasn't surprising that I'd done something stupid like that when I'd been drinking; I do stupid stuff all the time when I'm drinking. I felt bad; I felt like a coward. There's coming out, and then there's blubbering your way out after too many beers. One leaves no room for doubt; the other makes it all too easy to get up and walk away as if nothing had ever been there.

All too easy. Much too easy. Easy enough that if I panicked I just might make that choice. I shook my head, trying to get it to stop the buzzing in my ears. It would be easy to walk away from it all. Just put on my shirt, put on my coat and boots, get up, get out, and never look back. No one would be the wiser. No one would have to know, ever. I shook, looking around for my shirt. It would be easy to forget it all, until the next beer binge at least. Until the next time someone else just wouldn't work. I stared down at my boots, standing next to the bed, thinking. Trying to think. I could remember his eyes, I could remember the way he touched me, the way he moved. I could remember more, if I focused.

The door opened suddenly. I looked up as Red walked in slowly, closing the door behind him. His gaze was on the floor, and when he looked up he seemed surprised to find me sitting on the bed. For a short moment his eyes held mine, and then he was looking just slightly off, somewhere above my right shoulder. He was wearing a dark gray hoodie with a large black widow stenciled across the left side. It was such a stereotypical goth shirt I could've smiled, and I would have if the atmosphere in the room hadn't suddenly gotten so tense.

"You were going to the party last night…" I said. It wasn't a question. It suddenly made sense, somehow. "You never go to the parties."

There was a long bit of silence.

"It's almost ten. You probably have to go home," Red said finally. I wondered if that was what he wanted. I was trying to meet his eyes but he was doing a good job avoiding it.

"I could do that. I could just get up, and leave." I said, watching him closely. His face was carefully blank; I couldn't tell what he was thinking. "I could leave."

Perfect silence again.

I stood up finally, and slowly walked over to him. His eyes slid away from me towards the side. I stopped a foot or so away, I didn't want to push my luck.

"You probably should," He said, still doing a fine job of avoiding my gaze.

"Should I?" I asked, softly. I was starting to feel empty already; starting to feel lonely. Red didn't seem to want to answer the question, focusing on some spot to the side.

He was giving me an opening, I realized. He was giving me the chance to walk away and pretend this never happened. All of this never happened. A chance to bury it in the back of my mind and never bring it into daylight again.

I couldn't understand; he was distant again. Detached. I couldn't see even a fragment of emotion on his face, or in his eyes. He was acting colder than I'd seen in a long, long time.

His wall was back up, I realized suddenly.

Just as suddenly, I realized I had never been planning on taking that chance, anyway. I felt bad that it had to come out the way it did. I wished I had been able to deal with things differently, to deal with things the way they should be dealt with, without alcohol hanging its cloud of doubt over everything. Would I have done the same thing without alcohol in my system, lowering my inhibitions? Maybe, if I'd been put in the right spot at the right time. I just never seemed to be able to put myself in that spot at that time necessary for it to happen. Or, maybe, I shied away from those sorts of moments precisely because I knew what I would do, and I was scared of what it meant, and what it insinuated.

That was the past. That was over.

"Tell me to go, then," I said, still as softly as before. "Tell me to leave, and forget about everything. If that's what you want, then tell me."

"If that's what I want?" Red turned his eyes towards me then, voice wavering slightly. It seemed I caught him off guard; he seemed to have been expecting something else.

"That's how you're acting," I said, trying not to sound as if all my hope was gone, since it wasn't. Not yet.

"I…" He started, hesitated. Uncertainty flickered through his eyes. "I hate sports, all of them… and they ended up making me write for football exclusively."

"Because you never missed a game for the last two seasons," I added after he stopped, smiling gently. His face softened slightly, losing some of its apathetic hardness. I reached out, brushed his bangs out of his eyes. I still couldn't figure out what color they were, but it didn't matter. His eyeliner was smeared, his hair was a mess, and it was obvious by the dark smudges under his eyes he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep the night before. He looked amazing.

"Probably," He said, his voice growing softer. He wasn't taking his eyes off of mine, and he didn't seem to mind when I brushed my fingers through the rest of his hair and let my hand rest at the back of his head. More silence, again, but the tension in the air was a little different this time.

"I like you," My voice came out a lot quieter than I had anticipated, shaking a little tiny bit at the end. I needed to say it. I needed to hear myself say it. I need him to hear me say it. "I like you. A lot."

I saw the spark go through him, light his eyes as it sent his wall crashing down. The distance in his eyes was gone; the bare edges of his lips curved into the slightest of smiles.

"I don't want you to forget," He said softly. I could feel his hands on my waist, his fingers on my bare skin. I grinned, stepping forward to press my forehead against his, to feel his breath against my face as he continued, "I don't want you to forget anything, Stan. I don't want to let you go…"

I pressed my lips against his, felt his arms wrap around me as he pushed up against me. His fingers played across my skin, and I shivered, wrapping the arm not currently engaged in tangling up his hair around his body. I sucked at his bottom lip, ran my tongue along it until he opened his lips eagerly, our tongues meeting, twisting around each other. I pulled back just a moment, just long enough to shove him back against the wall, just long enough to look into his half-lidded eyes before I kissed him again, deep and fierce, felt his fingers dig into my back as he rocked his body against mine.

****

Eleven o'clock found me strolling up the sidewalk towards Clyde's house, whistling a happy little tune. The sun was out, but dark clouds were hanging on the horizon. Snowy storm clouds; there was going to be massive snow before nightfall, along with crazy winds. You could feel it in your bones; the air just seemed to weigh you down. A snowstorm meant sitting around at home all evening doing nothing, but I couldn't feel bad about it. Suddenly, everything was looking brighter around me.

I found my car where I'd left it, almost alone in front of Clyde's house. I recognized Token's BMW standing near the door; he was either helping get the house back in order or still crashed out on the living room couch. I was wondering whether I should go down to the house to see if the guys were still there, but decided to get to the car and run the heater for a bit before I did. It was sunny, but there was an icy bite to the air, and the car was probably freezing inside. I walked around the front of it, pulling my keys out of my pocket as I turned the corner, and almost fell as I tripped on something. I flung my arms out towards the car, hands slipping across the side and leaving little streaks in the snow covering its side. My fingers grabbed at the neck of the side mirror, and I barely managed to keep my grip. I really needed to start wearing gloves.

"What the hell?" I glanced down underneath me to meet glazed blue eyes staring back up at me.

"Oh, dude, you're back." Kenny grinned lazily, raising a hand to pat me on the arm he could just barely reach. "Stan's back!"

I stood up, a hand to my head as I tried to understand what the hell was going on. Kenny sat with his back to the car wheel, thigh deep in snow with his legs stretched out in front of him. Cartman was sitting next to him, legs stretched out just the same, head on the blonde's shoulders, his arms covering his face. He grumbled something angrily, and winced as he uncovered one eye to look up at me. Kyle was sprawled across both of them, head buried against Kenny's legs and arm hooked around one of the blonde's thighs.

"'ey, fag, wake up," Cartman didn't even try sitting up, and only lowered one arm to give the redhead a shove. I could hear Kyle mutter something, and he shifted position a little, arm wrapping tighter around Kenny's leg.

"You guys look… great," I said, grinning. Okay, so my head was still pounding a little, but I was pretty sure I didn't look half as bad as they did.

"Shut up, ass," Cartman said, finally making the move to shove Kyle off of him. He stood up shakily, hand to his head. "Just get in the damn car and get us home…"

I snickered slightly as I watched him stumble around the car to the passenger's side door. He tried the handle a few times, sending me a wavering glare when he realized it was still locked. I shook my head, unlocking the doors. He opened the door finally, nearly falling over as it slipped out of his grasp. With a groan he fell into the seat, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Come on, dude, Stan's gonna run us over if we don't get outta the way," Kenny was nudging Kyle gently, trying to get him to move.

"…few more minutes…" Kyle groaned, but Kenny didn't stop, and he moved finally, shoving himself up. His arms wobbled for a moment, but Kenny stood up and pulled him up with him.

"Back seat, come on," Kenny led the stumbling redhead around me to the back door. "The sooner we get home the sooner you eat something, and the sooner you eat something the sooner I let you go to bed."

"Fuck eating…" Kyle grimaced, crawling onto the back seat, "I'm not eating nothing…"

"Hypoglycemia's a bitch, Kyle," Kenny shoved him over and sat down on his half of the seat.

"All right guys, let's go," I said, sitting down in the driver's seat. The damn thing was pure ice, and I started the car quickly and turned the heater on full blast.

"Yes! YES!" Cartman leaned towards the little vent on his side, shoving his hands onto it.

"What were you guys doing outside?" I asked, turning the wipers on. Technically, I should have cleaned the window off while I was outside, but what the hell. I'd make it home.

"Everyone was fucking leaving and we couldn't find you," Cartman said, lifting a hand to turn the visor to block the sunlight coming in from the side window. "Figured we'd just wait by the car for you."

"Dude, where were you?" Kenny leaned forward, gripping the side of the driver's seat to stick his head next to me.

"Yes, Stan? Where were you?" Cartman looked over at me curiously.

"And what the fucking hell was Bebe doing trying to get in my fucking pants?" Kyle asked grumpily. Kenny frowned, turning his head towards the back slightly.

Now Cartman's curious look had taken on a shrewd edge. He'd always been one to put two and two together quickly, but I wasn't worrying too much. It would take a lot more information than he had to figure out what had really happened.

"What the hell was Bebe doing with you?" Kenny asked, eyes narrowed slightly.

"Hell if I know," Kyle answered back. I noted the faint pained strain in his voice, and looked into the rearview mirror. He was curled up on his half, or rather, two-thirds of the back seat, hands gripping the sides of his head. Each time we hit a bump he'd wince slightly.

"Looks like hogging the cooler didn't do you much good," I joked, and he glared at me, but only half-heartedly.

"Damn headache won't go away," Kyle almost whimpered, rubbing his hands on his head.

"Soon as you get food in you, you can sleep it off," Kenny promised, then turned his eyes back to me. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, eyes focusing on a spot somewhere below my ear. "Oh hello there mister hickey, didn't see you there before."

Cartman laughed, and I glared at him, and at Kenny, but that just made them laugh harder.

"Okay, dude, that is not a Bebe-hickey," Kenny said, reaching out a hand to touch my neck. I jerked away, trying to ignore him, and ignore the still-laughing Cartman.

"Shut up," I said, trying not to grin.

"Why weren't you in the house, Stan?" Cartman asked in a half-croon, "Did you ditch to meet up with some secret luv-aahhh?"

Kenny laughed hard at that, falling back onto his seat, and Cartman smirked at me.

"I am just not going to say anything now," I answered back, which only made them both break out into more laughter.

"Oh, this is good. This is good." Cartman rubbed his hands together, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. "I know what I'm going to be doing this week."

I was about to say something back at that, something nasty, even if I was starting to snicker along with them, when a low buzz broke through. All four of us looked around for a moment, before Kenny's face brightened with sudden realization, and he poked Kyle.

"Dude, your pants are vibrating," The blonde said, although his face darkened a bit as the words left his mouth.

"Fucking shit what the fucking hell…" Kyle muttered darkly, fumbling around in his pockets. He finally came up with his cell phone, screen flashing as the call kept coming in. With an aggravated sigh he pressed a button and put the phone up to his ear. "Yeah? Whaddya want Mom? …No… no… Yes, we're coming home right— I know!... We're taking the fu—the corner, we're turning the… I'm not! I'm not talking ba— Whatever. What?... No. No, I'm not—All right, alright? All right, you're right. Totally. Absolutely. You always are… no, I'm not being snappy—I'm not! …Fine. Bye."

I jumped, jerking the wheel, as something small and rectangular met the dashboard with a loud crack.

"Sorry…" Kyle mumbled from the back, "I was aiming for Cartman's head."

" 'ey! What the hell?" Cartman growled, turning a glare towards the backseat.

"Mom and Dad are driving Ike to that stupid science convention in Boulder right now," Kyle muttered, and I heard someone shift on the seat in back.

"Fuck, that's today?" Kenny answered back, "I forgot…"

"They'll probably stay there the night, weather's going to be pretty fucking bad later… Or something…" Kyle groaned, and I looked into the mirror to see that he was gripping his head again. Kenny had a hand on his side, looking a little concerned.

I pulled up next to Cartman's house, stopping at his driveway. He climbed out, slamming the door closed and giving a short wave before stumbling up the walkway towards the front door.

"Well, we're almost home," I said, driving down a few blocks and taking the corner, "Do you guys wanna come over for a bit?"

"Maybe later," Kenny answered, giving me a small grin I saw in the rearview mirror. I shrugged; why not, they didn't look up for anything other than crashing anyways. Pulling up to their house I drove up the driveway and watched them get out. Kyle gave me a pained grin as they walked up to the door, trying not to fall over on the slippery cement. With a wave, I backed the car out and drove the short distance down to my house.

****

I squinted in the candlelight to try and make out the watch on my wrist. It looked like it could be saying it was nine thirty. It definitely wasn't six forty five, so my first guess was probably right. I sighed, almost groaned, and brushed my fingers violently through my hair. It had been three hours since the storm winds had knocked a power line somewhere in our vicinity, and for the past three hours I had been stuck in the living room with my parents, surrounded by dozens of emergency candles and huddled around board games I could just barely remember from when I was a kid. We'd already played through Sorry and Clue about three times each, and we were now in the middle of a crazed game of Scrabble. It's harder to look up words in a dictionary when all you have is flickering candlelight to read them in; trust my dad to forget to charge the emergency flashlights we had stored. Only one still worked, and I'd left it by the front door in case we had to leave the house for some reason.

"Stan! I think I just got a triple score!" My dad's voice called from the living room, and I glanced around the kitchen desperately, trying to find anything, anything, to stall for time. Anything.

"I'll be there in a minute," I called back, starting to open cabinet doors. Snacks! I could get snacks, along with getting bowls for them. Many, many snacks. I crouched down to get a few plastic bowls from the bottom cabinets.

The phone rang suddenly, and I jumped up, dropping a bag of bagel chips. Eagerly I dashed over, grabbing at the receiver before my parents could get to the cordless in the living room.

"Hello?" I asked, trying not to sound as happy as I felt. Whoever it was, I was about ready to kiss them.

"Stan?" Kenny's voice came over the line, shaking slightly. A sudden chill shot down my back.

"Hey Kenny… something wrong?" I asked. There was a long pause on his end of the line; I heard something shifting in the background, then a sound like something being dragged over the floor.

"Stan… I need your help," Kenny said quietly, but that time I could hear it shaking. "I need… I need your help with Kyle."

"What? What happened?" I asked, cold gathering somewhere in the pit of my stomach. My eyes searched around the kitchen, landing finally on the flickering flame of the candle. It danced and sputtered feebly.

"Dammit," Kenny's voice went quite again at a clatter on his end. "Stan, just… get in your car and get over here."

"I… I can just walk…" I started, looking down at myself. I just needed my boots and my coat and I should be fine.

"Car, Stan! We need your car!" A slight note of panic shot through his words, and my skin went cold. "Just, get over here. Fast. Now."

The line went dead. I stared at the receiver in my hands for a moment, trying to get my mind to stop spinning. What the hell, what the hell… I put the receiver back on its cradle, turned and headed into the living room. My parents looked up from the tile-covered board, smiles on both of their faces.

"What's wrong, Stan?" My mom asked, her face falling slightly. I wondered if I looked as bad as I felt, and tried to force out a grin.

"Nothing, just… Kenny asked if I could come over…" I said, heading towards the front door as I talked. "Kyle and him need help with something, so I'm just gonna… you know, hop over and see what I can do."

"What? What do they need you for?" My dad asked, looking back down at the game board. He seemed a little unhappy that I was leaving without looking at his triple score, but I couldn't find it in myself to give a damn. I pulled on my boots without answering, and opened the closet to look for my coat.

"Well, all right, but call us if you plan on staying there late," My mom said, and while she smiled at me I couldn't help but think that she had read me better than I had anticipated. I gave her a grin as I pulled on my coat, patting my pockets to check that my keys were there. With a wave, I headed out the door, pulling it closed behind me. Wind was gusting strongly outside, whipping my coat's hood around my head. I grimaced, slipping a little as I hurried down to my car. Impatiently I swung my arms across the car's front and back windows; it wouldn't do me any good if I had to drive somewhere in this weather without being able to see anything. Getting in, I started it and drove down the street to Kyle's house. I pulled into the driveway, stopping at the garage, and got out, running to the door as the wind tugged at my jacket and blew snow in my face.

The door opened as I reached my hand out, and I almost fell in as another blast of wind caught me from the back. Kenny caught me, pulling me inside and leaving the door open behind me. I glanced at him, about to say something, ask something, but he shoved a large rechargeable flashlight into my hands and motioned for me to follow him. I did, leaving a trail of melting snow across the carpeting in the front room as we headed for the stairs. I was shining the flashlight ahead of me as I went; Kenny didn't seem to need it but I didn't want to risk falling on my face.

Kenny stopped suddenly at the top of the stairs, turning to look at me. His eyes were wide, his breathing fast. There were dark smudges on one side of his face, and down one side of his hoodie. He put a hand on my shoulder, eyes serious.

"Stan. We have to take Kyle to the hospital," He said, slowly and obviously trying to keep his voice controlled. I frowned at him; I couldn't understand. "The hospital. You have to drive us there, Stan. You have to help me get him in the car and drive us there, okay?"

"…What the hell happened, Kenny?" I croaked, barely able to get the words out of my mouth. His breath shuddered, his hand gripped my shoulder tightly.

"Get us to the hospital. I'll… I'll explain later," Kenny gave my shoulder a pat, then turned away and led on further down the hallway. I followed him, heart pounding. Everything looked so strange, all I had was a circle of white illuminating what was ahead of me, and everything else was lost in shadow. I couldn't make out what was beyond that bright circle, it was almost as if nothing beyond it existed.

Kenny stopped at the open doorway of the bedroom he shared with Kyle, looked back at me, just a glance, and stepped inside. I took a breath, tried to keep from the hand holding the flashlight from shaking, and followed him inside.

The circle of white illuminated the hardwood floor just inside the doorway. Beyond that was the dark brown and beige rug that lay between their beds, dark splotches marring the lighter parts of it. As I shone the light further in across the length of the rug, the splotches grew, ran together, became one large stain across the last third of the rug, a stain extending from under Kyle's still body.

My breath caught in my throat; for a second my sight went as well. I was seeing stars. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't get air past my choked airway. Then Kyle moved, just slightly. Twitched, rather, but I could see that his eyes were still partially open. I let out a shaky breath, trying to calm myself and headed across the rug shakily. I tried avoiding the dark spots, the stains, but realized it was useless. Kenny had crouched down at Kyle's head, he'd put a hand to his face, was stroking it softly. I stopped next to him, looked for a reason for Kyle's startling paleness, for the stains. Then I saw Kenny was holding one of Kyle's arms, his left, keeping it up higher than his body. It was wrapped with what looked to be a dark towel, except that it was much, much lighter colored at the edges, and then I realized I was looking at it all backwards and that the towel was actually a light color and that the darkness was from… from…

"Kenny…" I choked out; an acrid scent of metal pervaded the room. I swallowed, tasted pennies.

"You can clip the light to your pants," Kenny said, and I fumbled with the flashlight for a moment. "Here, take his legs… I'll take him by the shoulders."

I shuffled around, flashlight banging off of my thigh and sending it's light flickering across the room. Kenny lay Kyle's arm across his chest, grabbed his shoulders and lifted slightly. The redhead muttered something, eyelids flickering. I swallowed thickly, leaned over and grabbed Kyle's legs. Somehow we maneuvered out of the room, headed down the hallway towards the stairs. Kenny didn't seem to have a problem with heading down the stairs, backwards and holding Kyle up at the same time as he was. My hands were shaking so badly I was scared I was about to drop Kyle's legs at any moment. Getting across the front room was easy, and suddenly we were outside, the frosty wind blasting at us. I managed to snag the door with my foot and pull it closed behind us at a lull in the gusts, and we stumbled through the snow towards my car. I'd left the doors open, and Kenny pulled open a back door quickly. He slid into the back seat, pulling Kyle inside with him. I helped him get the redhead situated as best I could, then closed the door and got into the driver's seat.

I turned the windshield wipers on high, pulling out of the driveway and heading down the street as fast as I could go. I could hear Kenny murmuring softly to Kyle behind me; I thought it was probably doing him more good than the redhead. I didn't mind; having his voice as background noise, even if I couldn't make out any words, was better than driving along in silence, trying to stop thinking. God. God. I had to stop thinking. There were red lights in front of me, but I glanced to either side and drove on through. I was probably going too fast for the weather, but I'd gotten my snow tires on the day before so I figured I could push the car just a little faster. The wind was strong, however; I could feel it shoving at the Civic, as if it were trying to shove us off the road.

"T…take the turn towards Ash," Kenny spoke up suddenly, "You can cut through the bakery parking…"

"Okay…" I whimpered. I was trying hard not to look in the rearview mirror. I couldn't look into the rearview mirror. I had to watch for Argyle, had to turn right onto it. I had to make sure I didn't miss the turn onto Ash. I had to—

A sudden scream broke through the silence of the car like a gunshot. I jerked the wheel, the car went sliding. I pumped the brakes but I couldn't stop it from turning, and although the scream hadn't been loud, and it had faded quickly, I still heard it in my head. There was a sudden sense of vertigo; the car was moving in five directions at once, and I couldn't stop it.

A thump, and I was thrown into my door. My hands wouldn't let go of the steering wheel, and I couldn't control my breathing. I closed my eyes, trying to get myself under control, then opened then again and turned to look into the back seat. Kenny had slid almost all the way off of the seat, but somehow he'd managed to keep Kyle from doing anything other than sliding a bit towards the left side of the car. Kyle's eyes were wide, staring up towards the roof of the car, and I could see tears leaking out of the corners. He was whimpering, but it was muffled by Kenny's arm across his mouth. I looked towards the blonde, my eyes met his shocked blue ones. He was shaking, I could see, and wincing slightly.

"Sorry…" I managed, and he shook his head. I turned back towards the front of the car, realizing the car was still idling. My whole window was white, and there was snow tossed across the hood of the car. A snow bank. I almost sighed in relief. Putting the car in reverse I pulled out onto the street. Back into drive, and I started down the street. Cutting across the bakery parking I pulled onto Hospital Drive and rocketed down towards the large white building at the end. Sometimes, living in a small town had its advantages; less than ten minutes and we were pulling into the emergency room parking. I pulled into a spot just next to the doors and cut the engine.

"I'll go get help," I said, looking back at Kenny and Kyle. The blonde nodded without speaking; he was holding Kyle's injured arm up high above his body level, his other hand shaking as it stroked the redhead's cheek. "I'll be right back."

I almost fell out of the car, sliding across the slick snow cover as I hurried towards the emergency room doors. The double glass doors slid open softly, and I was hit by a gust of warm air. There were people inside, but I could barely see them past the glare of the bright lights on the pale walls and floors. I stumbled inside, trying to see something, trying to find someone.

"Do you need help?"

I turned quickly at the voice, finding myself looking into the face of a kindly looking middle aged woman in nurse's garb. She was looking at me closely, and I stuttered for a moment, almost shocked that someone was paying attention.

"I… my friend, he's in my car… I, we drove him…" I started falling over my words, I didn't know how to explain it. I was seeing Kyle again, Kyle with his arm wrapped in – god – a bloody towel, Kenny's hands were red. Kenny's hands were red.

"He's hurt?" She asked, softly, putting a hand on my shoulder. I nodded, shuddering under her comforting touch. She turned away, calling to someone behind her, then turned back to me. "Okay, show me where he is."

I led her outside, hurrying over to my car. I could hear others behind us, and the rattle of a stretcher. Kenny had opened his door, and I rushed over to him. The blonde had Kyle's head and shoulders in his lap, and he gave me an anxious look. Kyle's eyes had closed, and he was breathing hard. A gentle hand at my side made me take a step away, and the kind-eyed nurse gave me an encouraging grin as she motioned for the ER crew to get Kyle out of the car. I didn't know how they did it; one moment, and then Kyle was on the stretcher, a few men rolling him into the ER.

A hand gripped the side of my jacket; I turned to see Kenny next to me, looking after Kyle with scared, wide eyes. The stains on his face were the brown of dry blood; there were more streaks, all in varying stages between red and brown, all across his hoodie. I slung an arm around his shoulders, pulled his shaking form close, and we headed inside. Kenny stumbled slightly in the sudden brightness; I held his shoulder tighter, and looked around.

I couldn't see the stretcher with Kyle on it, or the ER staff that had brought it inside. The nurse that had found me was talking to a man who looked like he might be a doctor. She noticed us and hurried over, the man behind her.

"Boys, we have a few questions to ask you," She started, placing a hand each on Kenny and my shoulders.

"We just want to know what happened here," The man said, clipboard in hand. His eyes weren't quite as kind; there was a hard edge to them.

I would've answered, but I had no clue. Kenny shuddered, pushing against me a bit. I looked at him, trying to give him an encouraging look.

"Kyle… he…" Kenny licked his lips, "He cuts… sometimes. Not a lot. Not, and not bad… He isn't bad with it… I tried, I mean… but he never got real bad with it…"

"It's okay son," The man said in a voice that was trying to be soothing.

"His… his head was hurting, a lot… and his parents, they were on his ass lately… about everything," Kenny's hand was clutching at me tightly, his fingers digging into my side. I barely felt it, I was having troubling keeping up with his words. "I don't know… I mean maybe he slipped up, or something… or… He wasn't… saying anything, like he couldn't… I don't know…"

"That's good," The man wrote something down on his clipboard, "That's good, alright? Now, do you know if he is taking any medication?"

"He takes insulin… I don't know remember what kind… but…" Kenny stopped, looking uncertain. The man had paused in his writing as well to eye him. Kenny looked away for a moment, then his gaze started to wander. "I mean, I don't know… Maybe he didn't, he does it sometimes… and… and his head was really hurting…"

"Does what?" The man's voice dropped lower, and actually did get softer, more soothing. Kenny was twitching next to me, looked at him and shuddered as if he was trying to hold back a sob.

"He might… might've slipped a... a vicodin, or two…" Kenny's voice got quieter, "For… for his head. His mom takes it, f…for her back…"

"Vicodin…" The man wrote more on his clipboard, but he gave Kenny another musing look. "This headache, how long has it been going on?"

"Few days, but it got pretty bad today…" Kenny wiped a sleeved wrist across his face.

"He… screamed…. In the car…" I added so suddenly I shocked myself. The man turned a piercing look towards me, "I mean… not, really bad or anything, but… but like he was in pain…"

The man looked at me for a moment longer, then wrote something more down. He nodded a thanks towards Kenny and me and turned, heading briskly towards a row of doorways across from us.

"All right boys, thank you," The kindly nurse smiled softly, "You can have a seat over there…"

"But… Kyle!" Kenny jerked away from me suddenly, looking towards the direction the man had taken. The nurse placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, mouth moving wordlessly.

"Kenny, Kenny!" I grabbed him, and tried to pull him towards me but he shoved away, almost breaking my hold. "Kenny, calm down. We have to wait now, they have… they have to help him now, and we'll just be in the way."

"Stan, but… I can't, what if… Stan, what…" Kenny whimpered, still trying to get away from my hold. It took all my strength to pull him towards me, hold him so he wouldn't get free. I could feel him sobbing, his body shaking against mine.

"It's going to be all right, Kenny," I shushed, trying to soothe him, "Kyle's going to be fine, he's going to be fine…"

I couldn't help it, my voice cracked towards the end. I could feel Kenny falter, fall into me a little. I tried to give the nurse a thankful look, and dragged the blonde over to a row of chairs at the side of the hallway. We practically collapsed onto two of them. Kenny was stiff next to me, shaking almost continually. I rubbed his sides, trying to get him to relax just a little. He fell against me, suddenly, his breath choking out.

"Oh god, Stan, oh god oh god…." His voice was hardly over a breath, but I had pulled him close and could hear him, feel his whimpers. I wanted to calm him down, but I didn't know how. I couldn't understand how this all happened. I pressed my face into his hair, trying to breathe right, trying not to notice the tears on my face as his voice continued, unstoppable. "Oh god, I told them… I told them, the fucking idiots, I told them to back off… I told them…"


	7. Rosenrot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been researching this chapter for the past three days. No, false. I have been researching it almost since I started, but I have been researching it DILLIGENTLY the past three days. How much of my research went into that explanation you'll be reading? Around… 20%. I don't feel it was a waste, however, so that is good.
> 
> This story is not easy to write, it is a pain. It makes my wrists hurt badly and my head hurt almost as bad. It rips and tears its way out of my fingers, but it also is so horribly fulfilling that it makes it all worthwhile.
> 
> There isn't much I can say here without giving away parts of this chapter, so I won't. Read, and enjoy.

The chair squeaked as I shifted my weight, eyes closed. The harsh glare of hospital lights penetrated past my eyelids, and I raised a hand to rub them wearily. Footsteps sounded, a steady staccato. Step, step, step. Turn. Step, step, step. I sighed, opened my eyes to see Cartman pass in front of me again, hands in his jeans pockets, eyes distant. A few more steps, and he turned again, this time noticing my look. I tried to grin, but probably failed, and he shook his head, walking on.

I pushed myself up off the seat, nearly running into Cartman as he headed back along an imaginary line. I put out a hand, let it rest on his shoulder as he turned his face towards me. I was glad I called him, I was glad he came. I don't think I would've been able to handle Kenny myself the past five hours. I squeezed his shoulder slightly; I didn't know if I could say the thanks I knew I should say. His eyes were darkened with worry, even as he tried to look as annoyed as possible, but he raised an arm to pat me on the back gently. It took more willpower than I thought I had not to throw myself at him, wrap my arms around his shoulders and let loose. Instead I gave him a shaky grin, and taking a deep breath I stepped past him towards where Kenny stood, and had been standing for almost an hour now. I stopped next to him in front of the large window looking into the recovery room, a little unsure about what to do.

"Why…why did they have to operate?" His voice was quite, almost as if he had no energy left to form words.

"I don't know…" I said, honestly. Reaching out I lay my arm across his shoulders, pulled a little closer to him. He was still shaking, slightly, and he couldn't break his gaze away from Kyle on the other side of the window. The redhead lay on a large hospital bed, attached to a few different machines by a series of tubes and wires.

"Why won't they tell us anything?" Kenny growled lowly, turning to look at me finally. His eyes lacked the energy of his words, and his face was pale. He'd let me drag him to a bathroom while Kyle was in surgery to get his face washed off, thankfully.

"Maybe they're waiting for his parents…" I shrugged, looking back at Kyle's still form. I heard Kenny whimper, lean away from me to press his forehead against the cool window. I took a breath, "Look, I'll try to find something out, okay?"

"Kenneh," Cartman came up on the other side of the bonde suddenly, and while his hand found Kenny's arm, his gaze was on me. I met his eyes, frowning, but he motioned to the side with his head. "Come on, let's take a little walk. Get some coffee or something…"

"No… I can't…" Kenny tried to pull out of his grasp, pressed his hands against the window desperately.

I glanced away for a second in the direction Cartman had indicated to see the man – the doctor – who'd signed Kyle in heading our way. Turning back to the blonde I gave his shoulder a squeeze, and tried to give him a reassuring smile.

"It's all right, Ken, I'll be here," I said. He turned his eyes on me, and I could see the tears gathering in them again. "I'll call you, if anything… okay?"

"Yeah, Kenneh, it'll be fine…" Cartman urged from the other side, pulling on the blonde's arm gently. Kenny relented finally, stumbling along as Cartman led him down the hallway. I watched them go, almost unaware of the footsteps getting closer to me.

"Stan, is it?"

The man's voice almost surprised me. I turned to look at him, nodding.

"Yeah, I'm Stan," I said, my voice strained. "What's going on with Kyle?"

The man eyed me critically for a moment, but I could see he was thinking deeply about something.

"I'm not, technically, supposed to give any information out to anyone other than his close family," He said slowly, and I sighed, shaking my head.

"His parents are stuck in a blizzard right now, I called them but there are detours everywhere, they don't know when they'll get here," I groaned. I closed my eyes, trying to think. "But, Kenny. Kenny's, technically… legally, I guess, he's his brother."

I opened my eyes to look at the man hopefully. I couldn't call him a doctor, he had a certain edge to him that made him something more. Maybe he'd been an army medic; he certainly looked like he could fit the part. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked past me down the hallway.

"He might be…" He mused, but then his attention shifted to me again. "Do you believe he's in any state to be receiving any information?"

"Honestly?" I ran a hand through my hair, sighing. "Honestly, I don't think he'd take anything well if it came from you. He's not exactly… doctor friendly… But he has to be told something, dammit, all of us do. I can't just sit here, and wait, and keep wondering…"

I looked at him, pleading, desperate. I couldn't stand it anymore; I had no idea why Kyle was in surgery, I had no idea why it had taken three goddamn hours, and I had no idea why he wasn't awake yet. My mom was up in fifteen, twenty minutes after her knee surgery.

"The staff will be working to let Kyle up in the next minutes, taking out his breathing tube and other equipment that is no longer necessary…" The man started, but I frowned.

"Let him wake up? What, what does that mean?" I interrupted, looking towards the window. I hadn't noticed, but people had gone inside, and a nurse was working at unhooking wires from the electrodes on Kyle's chest.

"I will get to that… Now, I will tell you what we know, and I'll trust you to pass the information along to your friends in the way you think is best," The man said softly. I looked at him in surprise.

"You will?" I could've cried, I thought. I hadn't known I was so close to tears; I could practically feel them welling up.

"I shouldn't, but you all seem to be pretty close," He tucked his clipboard under one arm, and looked at me with as calm a gaze I'd seen him manage since we'd gotten to the hospital five hours earlier. "Now, are you ready?"

I nodded, trying not to look over-eager. He led me over to the chairs, and we sat down facing each other.

"We had to take Kyle into surgery because of two factors. One was his arm; I think you might be relieved to hear that, while the wounds were deep, they were not with the wounds you would expect on someone who was attempting to commit suicide." I shuddered at that, but part of the tension left me. That was good, that was good, but why then… I opened my mouth, but the man held up a hand to stop me.

"Kyle did have a significant dose of Vicodin in his system. If what your friend, Kenny, said is correct, and Kyle has a history of self-harm, I would think that the depth of his wounds was caused rather by the pain-dampening effect of Vicodin, rather than any true intent to cause himself serious injury. With self-harm, the person is usually doing something to themselves to cause enough pain to take their attention from what is bothering them. With the Vicodin affecting his system, Kyle most likely had to cause more serious injuries to himself in order to feel the pain he was expecting, and wanting, and his actions were probably entirely subconscious…" The man paused a moment, as if to see if I was keeping up, and I nodded. "Now, we had to work on putting everything in his arm back in its correct place. We were able to do a good job with that, but unfortunately he had damaged a part of the median nerve right before his wrist. We were able to patch it up, but there is a chance he will have slight problems with hand and wrist movements, as well as grip in his hand."

"But… will it be bad?" I asked, hands twisting around each other on my lap.

"There was not a great deal of damage, so I would say it will not be quite so bad. I cannot say for sure, we have to wait until he wakes up to assess the situation," The man gave me a long look then, and I almost thought he was done speaking. He took a deep breath finally, and continued, his eyes on my face. "There is another reason we had to take Kyle into surgery, and if it wasn't for you and your friend, things might have ended much worse than they were."

Worse? I felt a chill, suddenly, a spasm of a shake went through me. I wanted to ask what, how, but I couldn't find my voice.

"The extreme headache, the sudden shout of pain that you spoke of, tipped us off to a very unlikely occurrence. Very, very unlikely, in the case of a teenager, but not improbable…" The man folded his hands on his knees. "We did a few quick tests while preparing him for surgery to make sure. You see, Kyle had an aneurysm."

"A… but, old people get those…" I said, frowning uncertainly. The man nodded slightly.

"Yes, but in rare cases they appear in much younger people as well. The chance of a young person developing an aneurysm seems to be familial; often, others in the family have them as well, although not everyone's develops quite so quickly. Stress can raise the chances of an aneurysm developing faster, as well as high blood pressure. There are still factors we are unsure of in regards to aneurysms in young people," The man – the doctor, I had to remind myself again – looked over towards the window, and I did as well. It seemed that most of the people in the room were beginning to leave, and a nurse was writing something down on a clipboard. "We were extremely lucky; the aneurysm had begun to leak, but it had not ruptured completely, and we were able to insert a catheter into the weakened vein to repair it. We have waited a while before allowing him to regain consciousness until we could be sure that there was no danger of any more leakage from the area of the aneurysm."

"Is… is he going to be all right?" I whispered, looking back at him. The man turned his gaze to me, stared at me for a long moment, then put a hand on my shoulder.

"We won't know for sure what damage has been done until he is awake and we can run some neurological tests. From the way it looked, however, it does not seem that any serious damage has occurred," He squeezed my shoulder, and stood up. "All in all, as worrisome as it may sound, things are looking very positive for Kyle. I have no doubt that, physically at least, he will make a full recovery."

"…thank you…" I managed to squeeze out of my suddenly constricted throat. I watched as the last nurse left the room and walked over to the man in front of me.

"You're welcome," The man nodded to me, accepting the clipboard the nurse handed to him. Looking it over quickly, he thanked her and turned back to me. "You can go in if you'd like, he should be waking soon."

I stood up so suddenly I almost lost my balance. I hadn't realized I was as tired as I was, but I managed to stay on my feet and walk over to the door. Pressing down on the handle, I pushed the door open and padded in as silently as I could. For some reason, even though I knew Kyle was supposed to be waking up, I felt bad making any noise. I grabbed a chair that was standing next to the doorway and picked it up, carrying it over next to the bed, on Kyle's right side.

He looked paler than when I had been outside. There was a slightly pink line across his face where the band holding the breathing tube had been, but it was fading quickly. His eyes seemed slightly sunken in, dark smudges underneath them as if he hadn't been sleeping well. He probably hadn't been. I stared at his face, wondering what would happen when he finally opened his eyes. When he talked. Would there be a difference? Would he know what happened?

I reached out, took hold of his hand. It was warm, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. He was so still. I couldn't see if he was breathing or not, but he had to be. He had to.

His eyelids flickered; I gripped his hand tighter, leaned over to look at his face. No more movement, but I'd seen it, I knew I did.

"Kyle?" I breathed out. "Kyle, hey, you hear me?"

His eyelids flickered again, almost opening that time. I watched him closely.

"Kyle, it's me, Stan," I tried again, voice just slightly louder. "Come on… wake up…"

Another flicker of his eyelids, but this time they didn't close all the way. He took a deeper breath than those he'd been taking, his eyes pointing up towards the ceiling. They looked cloudy, lost. I reached out a hand, brushed his cheek.

"Kyle, hey," I was losing words; I didn't know what to say. I was grinning, I realized, grinning, and my eyes were stinging and I couldn't stop looking at him.

He blinked, slowly, took another deep breath as his eyes began to wander. Left, to right, I didn't know if he knew I was touching him but I stroked his cheek anyways. His eyes found me finally, resting a bit unfocused for a moment on my face.

"S…Stan…." He whispered, and I felt a tear roll its way down my face.

"Yeah, it's me…" I couldn't stop grinning, couldn't take my hand off of his cheek, couldn't stop touching him, couldn't stop making sure he was real.

"W-what… w-where…" His eyes started roaming again; his forehead wrinkled slightly. "W-what happ-pened?"

"You're in the hospital, Kyle," I choked out, and his eyes floated back towards me. "Don't worry, okay? Everything's all right. Everything's going to be all right…"

He seemed to relax for a moment, his eyes beginning to flutter closed. Suddenly, his hand clutched mine, his eyes flew open. He gazed, wild-eyed, around; I could feel him trying to move on the bed. I put my hand on his chest, stood up to try to look in his eyes. His gaze met mine, desperate.

"K-k-kenny…" He gasped finally, his eyes shooting to one side again, searching. "Ken…Kenny…"

"Calm down, okay? Calm down, Kenny's here…" I tried my best to soothe him. I glanced up quickly towards the window, just in time to see both Cartman and Kenny come into view. They were both holding what looked like steaming cups of coffee, but then Kenny's eyes fell on me and Kyle, and he shoved the cup into Cartman's other hand and rushed to the door. Pushing it open, he practically ran to the bed, nearly falling onto Kyle as he skidded into the side of the bed.

"K-k-kenny…" Kyle's eyes found him, focused. His mouth moved in unspoken words, be he seemed to lack the energy to say them.

"Shh, shh, it's all right," Kenny whispered, brushing the hair off of Kyle's forehead. There were tears on his face again, rolling down his cheeks freely, but he was smiling. "Everything's fine, everything's fine…"

Kyle's hand had let go of mine; he reached up to touch the hand Kenny had placed on his cheek instead. His eyelids had slid to half-closed, but he was staring up at Kenny as if he couldn't look away. The desperate look on his face had faded, he was starting to look relaxed, calm. I looked at Kenny, wondering if I should carry the chair over to him, but the blonde was already pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, continuing to smile and cry and stroke Kyle's face and say things I don't think either of them heard.

Quietly, I made my way out of the room, closing the door behind me as silently as possible. The relief was almost too much for me; I could probably sit down and pass out for hours. Sighing, I walked over to where Cartman stood leaning against the window. He handed me the cup of coffee Kenny had deserted and took a sip of his own.

"Fags," He huffed, eyeing the two through the window. I looked at him sharply, and just barely caught the flash of a grin on his face before he noticed me looking. Taking another, longer, sip of his coffee, he turned away from the window and looked straight at me. He was trying to look, well, almost offended by the whole situation, but he was failing. Miserably. "Is he… you know… gonna be… whatever…"

"Yeah, Kyle's going to be fine…" I grinned at him, and saw the relief flood his face. He looked through the window again, just a glance, then glared at me.

"Shut up, you're just as faggeh as they are," He huffed, turning to stalk over to the chairs on the other side of the hallway.

I shook my head, grinning, and followed him over. He sat stiffly as I plopped into the chair next to him, but that didn't stop me from standing my cup on the floor and leaning over to lay my head on his shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing?" He growled, trying to lean away, but I just followed his movements.

"G'night," I yawned, closing my eyes, and grinned at the string of curses he threw my way.

****

I'd sat there staring out of my windshield for at least fifteen minutes, and I was still almost half an hour early to school. I couldn't stay at the house; I couldn't have my mom keep giving me that pained grin, couldn't have my dad keep giving me encouraging pats on the back. I rubbed my eyes, telling myself to think optimistically. Kyle was going home today; I could go visit him later. That was good. That was really good. I looked out the windshield again, out at the drab grayish-reddish brick of the school wall. I wished Cartman was there with me, he'd be able to keep me awake at least. Keep me cognizant.

With a deep breath I pushed open my car door and got out. The wind was chilly, cold and cutting. I hunched my shoulders, walking towards the school and trying to keep from slipping on the patches of ice hidden beneath the thin blanket of snow. There seemed to be no one around this early, and my footsteps echoed hollowly in the hallway as I walked in the doors. Most of the lights were off, and there were shadows everywhere I looked.

It was a total toss-up, I knew it. I couldn't be sure, but I was going to try anyway. So down the hallway I went, took the corner by the empty nurse's office. Most of the doors here led to store rooms, and there weren't all that many. The hallway was short, and the only reason anyone ever went here was because of the doorway that led out towards the end of the parking lot. There was a dirty staircase back there, too. It led up to the second floor and opened onto a hallway leading down to the language lab, but it was usually dark and unlit and almost no one went there. Almost.

I heard the low murmur of voices before I'd gotten anywhere close to the end of the hallway, and I could feel a slight breeze around my legs. The lockers ended right before the staircase, and there were a few steps down to where the doors were located and where the staircase started upwards. The voices grew louder as I neared, and I could see that the door to the outside was propped open. There was a faint smell of smoke in the hallway, but most of it was being blown away by the frosty breeze. The little alcove was almost entirely in shadows; the only light was the slim rectangle on the floor extending from the open doorway. I was beginning to make out words, but I wasn't focusing on them. I didn't know what I was doing there, yet, or rather, I knew, but I didn't know what I wanted to accomplish. I was nearing the end of the lockers when certain words caught my attention, and I froze, staring ahead of me at the shadows.

"Did you hear about that Broflovski kid? No? Well, I was down at the hospital, for those tests, you know…"

I could barely make out the speaker, a black-clothed curvy figure leaning against the wall where the lockers ended, dark against a darker background. I recognized that voice, though, and I took a few slow steps towards her, feeling my hands begin to clench at my sides.

"Yeah, guess he tried to pull a Craig or something…"

My fist slammed into the last locker so hard I could practically feel the bones in my fingers shift. Henrietta whirled around, almost falling down the steps that led to the doorway. I was vaguely aware of other figures jumping up as the loud crash kept echoing down the hall. I couldn't see them, and I couldn't hear the echo, all I could see was the sudden shock and fear that had spiked through the girl's eyes, shock and fear that wasn't being quickly replaced by that cool gothic demeanor. I gritting my teeth and glared daggers, wishing my mom hadn't raised me to be a nice boy and that my morals let me hit girls once in a while.

I spun around, not waiting to see what other reaction I could get, and stalked back down the hallway. I didn't know where I was going; I couldn't see where I was going suddenly either. I wiped my face, but the tears clouded up my eyes as soon as I pulled my sleeve away. I turned into a bathroom finally, nearly throwing myself at a sink as soon as I was inside. I turned the faucets, tried to ignore the fact that the water was splashing everywhere, and on me most of all, and buried my face in my hands.

I didn't know what I was doing there. I didn't know what I was doing period. I was in school, but my eyes were closed, and all I could see was the stained rug, the bloody towel, Kenny's red hands. I'd spent all of yesterday scrubbing the back seat of the Civic with every cleaner I could find until the fabric looked brand new, but I could still see the stains. Closed my eyes, and there they were.

"Stan?" Red's voice broke through my thoughts suddenly.

I jerked up, turning towards the doorway as I tried to wipe my face off as best I could. My sleeves were wet, from tears of the splashing water in the sink, I didn't know.

"He didn't." I snapped. I tried to look at Red, but I couldn't meet his eye. He walked over slowly to me slowly, reaching out and turning the handles once he came close enough. He eyed me, a slight frown on his face, and I finally managed to meet his gaze, defiantly. "He didn't try… try to…"

I choked, unable to finish the sentence. Red's eyes looked sadder, darker. He reached out his arms and wrapped them around my neck, pulled me into a tight hug. I shuddered, dropping my face to his shoulder, wrapping my arms around him. His arms felt good around me, I felt safe suddenly. I was safe. I pushed myself against him, desperately trying not to cry anymore, desperately trying to calm down.

"How is he?" Red asked after a long moment. I sighed, unwilling to let him go, but he didn't seem to be loosening his hold. I shifted slightly, just enough to get my mouth free.

"He's… he's all right…" I said quietly, "He'll be all right… He's going home today."

"That's good," Red said softly, rubbing one hand lightly across my back. I felt his lips press against my temple in a gentle kiss. My arms wrapped tighter around him; he was real. He was real and he was here. He was solid.

A long moment passed, and then Red pushed away, just a little, enough to look me in the face. He didn't look too happy; actually, he looked a little concerned.

"What are you doing in school today?" He asked, and I shrugged. He sighed, brushing a hand across my cheek. "You look horrible…"

"Thanks," I chuckled slightly, grinning, but it didn't stop him from continuing to give me that same look. I sighed, looking at him. "I… just, wanted to see you."

"You idiot," He breathed, a little irritably, but I thought I saw something spark through his eyes. His hand dropped from my face to grab my arm, and he pulled me towards him as he turned towards the door. "Come on."

"What?" I frowned, but let myself be led out of the bathroom. The hallway was still deserted, and still half-lit. Red pulled me along to walk next to him, still holding my arm.

"We're going," He said simply, directing us towards one of the side entrances to the school.

"Where?" I asked, stumbling slightly as we headed out the doors. The sun outside was brighter than I had remembered it being.

"Anywhere," Red looked at me thoughtfully. I looked at him, confused but overall not too worried about the situation. Wherever we went, if he was there, I wouldn't mind. "Would you… want to go to my house?"

I looked at him, a little surprised. He looked like he was starting to consider other options, apparently thinking he might've been a little too forward with his suggestion, but I grinned, motioning to my car.

"Sure, let's go," I pulled him the first few steps, his hand still on my arm, but then he fell in step. He looked at me curiously, but didn't say anything as we got in the car. I pulled out of the school lot and onto the streets.

"Okay, you're going to have to help me," I said after passing a few streets, looking over at him from the corner of my eye. "Do I turn right or left at that tree?"

"You can find your way to my house stumbling around drunk in the middle of the night, but you can't find it sober in broad daylight?" Red answered back dryly. I was about to say something back to him, and it might have come out a bit snappy, but he turned to me, an amused glint in his eye and the barest of smiles on his lips. "From this direction, it's a right."

I tried not to grin too happily at his look, but didn't succeed. Somehow, things just didn't look so bad with him around, and I was more than happy to admit that. I found that cheery looking house that certainly didn't look like it would ever match the guy sitting next to me, and pulled into a spot just out front. We got out of the car silently, walking across to the gate and beyond it to the house with the snow crunching under our shoes. Red pulled out his keys as I stood and looked at the five small steps that led to the doorway and wondered how in hell I couldn't manage to get up them myself the last time.

"Is anyone home?" I asked as we headed inside, tapping the snow off of my shoes before I stepped on the carpeting.

"My mom leaves for work early," Red answered as I closed the door behind me. He unbuttoned his jacket and pulled it off, opening the coat closet door while I got mine off. "Even if she was home she probably wouldn't mind."

"What, you skipping school? Or you bringing someone over while skipping school?" I asked with a grin as Red took my jacket from me.

"Some things are just more important," Red answered, closing the closet door. "Do you want anything?"

I looked at him for a long moment; that was not exactly a smart way of phrasing the question, especially not with the state I was in. There was definitely something I wanted, and it wasn't going to be coming from the kitchen. Red seemed to realized that after a moment, his lips curving slightly. He took my hand in his, my fingers tingling at the contact, and led me into the living room and up to the couch. We sat down at almost the same time, hands still held. For a long moment, that was that. Us, sitting.

I didn't know what I wanted. No, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to throw myself at him, I wanted to bury myself in him. I wanted to see nothing but him and hear nothing but him and feel nothing but him. I felt horrible. I felt dirty. Kyle was hurt, he was fighting to get better, both physically and mentally. Kenny was suffering along with him, a walking train wreck. Hell, even Cartman was out of it, snappy and irritable in all the wrong ways, almost entirely unreachable at times. And here I was, throwing all that way, wanting nothing more than to escape, escape it all. I felt like a deserter, I felt like I was letting them down.

"Do you want to talk?" Red asked softly, his fingers squeezing mine. I shook my head, biting my lip. I couldn't talk; I'd sob if I tried, I knew it. I couldn't help it. I just wanted to be close to him; I couldn't deal with this on my own. He looked at me with even more concern in his eyes; his hand left mine to touch my shoulder gently.

I fell into him, pressed my face into his shoulder again. I couldn't stop it; I couldn't stop myself from wrapping my arms around him, pressing against him. His arms wrapped around me in turn, pulling me closer, almost on top of him, as he leaned back against the couch arm. It was safe again, there, I felt protected. I felt wanted.

"Shh, it's okay," His voice whispered into my ear, gentle and soothing. I breathed him in, spice and incense. His arms around me warmed me, his soft voice continued to chase away the shakes I hadn't realized I'd gotten. I closed my eyes, for once not seeing red when I did, not seeing the glare of hospital lights. I shifted around slightly, sliding down so I could press my ear against his chest, hear the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. I breathed a sigh, feeling his hand stroking my face, and let myself go.


	8. Trouble Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, making you all think is exactly what I set out to do with this story. I feel great happiness when I hear that you're all trying to figure out what may be happening and how it is happening.
> 
> Secondly, and this I say with quite some regret, Pink is ending soon. Now, that's not to say the story that is in Pink is ending. I have a horrible habit of making multi-sectional stories, and Pink has fallen victim to that. Pink, as you know it, will end in another chapter or two, depending on how the story complies.
> 
> The story will continue, however, in the next section titled "Baptize Me In". Considering I have this outlined and started, you can be sure that updates will not be far behind.
> 
> Thirdly, I really wanted to say this, finally: This story is nothing like what I had expected it to be. It was experimental from the get go. I knew I was going to be writing different styles, and putting things together in different ways. I knew I wasn't going to be giving you, the readers, all your answers, and I knew I was risking losing readers because of it. It's not easy to read something where you can't figure out what is happening and why, or when you can only grasp certain things in a story. I wanted to make this something other than disposable; I wanted to attempt to build a story that would have you returning, not just for the new chapters, but for the old chapters as well. I wanted to make something that would have you reading chapter six and going back to chapter one and saying, oh, that makes sense now. Now, I know.
> 
> Unfortunately, I had also planned on this being a strict Stan/Red Goth story. That is where my writing deviates from my original ideas. Pink has become something more than just Stan and Red. It's become Stan and His World. And it has a certain other essence to it as well, one that isn't as mysterious as I'm making it sound here in this sentence, but that is just as deep as any that are in this story.
> 
> Pink will leave you with more questions than answers, I will not lie. Baptize Me In will answer some of those questions, but just how many remains to be seen.

Sometime around seven pm on a chilly Thursday evening I found myself sitting on top of one of the large granite grave markers in South Park's old cemetery. The snow covered the ground pretty deep in places, creeping up the sides of the ancient trees that the graves lay between. The air was chilly around me, biting. I couldn't see if the sun was still out from under the canopy of the interlocking tree branches above, but I seriously doubted it.

It was cold, and it was dark, and the stone I was sitting on was freezing my ass through my pants. I shifted slightly, looked over towards Red where he was crouched in the snow a few feet away. He had a large piece of paper propped up against the grave marker with one hand, and was rubbing a large black wax crayon over the surface of the paper.

I grabbed the canvas bag sitting next to me on the grave stone and hopped off. Shivering slightly, I walked over to Red, watching as he nearly lay on the ground to get to the very bottom of the grave marker. Painstakingly he rubbed the wax crayon over and over until the white of the etchings stood out in sharp contrast to the black of the crayon. With a light sigh he sat back up, pulling the paper up and away carefully so that it wouldn't get wet.

"Cold yet?" I asked, shoving my freezing hands into my pockets. Red flicked his bangs out of the way as he inspected the paper.

"What?" He asked, slightly distracted. I nudged him with my knee, and he looked up at me finally, his breath clouding on the frosty air. "What?"

"Cold?" I asked, shivering slightly but unable to keep the grin from coming to my face. He looked so oblivious, knee deep in the snow and shuddering in the cold. I hadn't realized just how involved he could get with his little pet projects; he probably hadn't even noticed the cold creeping up on him.

"A little…" He admitted finally, looking around as if he had just realized he was in the middle of a graveyard on a cold winter evening. Standing up, he rolled the paper up carefully, making sure not to put any bends into it. He shuddered violently, suddenly looking annoyed, and handed me the roll. I tucked it into the canvas bag next to the others as he wrapped his arms around himself. "What time is it?"

"After seven," I replied, walking over to place an arm around his shoulders and pull him close. Having him next to me seemed to chase away some of the chill; I leaned over to press a light kiss to his cheek. "Want to stop by the diner?"

"Sure," He said, words distant as ever, but turned to catch my lips in his for a short, sweet moment. "Sorry…"

"For what?" I dropped my arm to his waist, fingers hooking in the belt loop on his jacket. We started walking back to my car, the chilly evening air winning out this time.

"I didn't realize it had gotten so late," He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, and just for a moment I saw the tiniest apologetic look flicker across his face. I grinned to myself; I was getting better at catching his expressions. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, with him having pulled the apathetic goth thing for so long, but I was managing it. It seemed like such a stupid thing to get happy over, but it worked for me.

"It's cool," I gave his side a pat before pulling my arm away to grab the keys out of my pocket. We took the last bend out of the cemetery gate and walked over to where the Civic was standing under a large oak tree. Out on the road I could see that the sky was dark and cloudy beyond the dark fingers of the leafless trees. With the car unlocked, I pulled open my door and sat down on the freezing driver's seat. Red settled onto the passenger's side seat, and I handed him the bag of papers before pulling my door closed.

Fumbling a bit with the keys, I managed to finally get them into the ignition. The engine turned over once, caught. I switched on the heater, turning the fans on full blast to heat the car as quickly as possible. Red was already digging through the glove compartment looking for CD's, and I let the car idle. The headlights lit up the side of the street ahead of us, gleaming off of the iced snow hanging on the sides of the trees and the branches above. There was little wind that evening, and the world was silent outside the car, very silent. It was a good sort of silent, a comforting sort of silent. The slight hum of the engine was barely there, just on the outside of my hearing; the silence was much louder than that, and it was all around me. I didn't even have to try to listen for it, it just came to me, and it was comforting. It was safe. It was just close enough to touch me, but it wasn't overpowering or stifling. I could live with that sort of silence, I thought; I could enjoy it even, enjoy the slight almost-there-but-not-quite static at the edge of my perception. It was fine here in the silence, it was perfectly fine in a place as perfect and serene as this.

"Stan?"

Red's voice came to me, distant, slightly hollow. It took a moment for it to reach me, really reach me, and I blinked slowly, forcing myself to focus. My hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly, white at the knuckles, and I realized I was breathing hard. I couldn't focus my eyes right, not yet, things in front of me were weaving in and out of my sight. I shook my head, closed my eyes to try and get things back to normal again. I felt Red's hand on my shoulder, could feel him lean towards me slightly. I opened my eyes again, finding my vision had returned to normal again. I turned to him, tried to fake a grin and failed horribly.

"Sorry, just tired, I guess…" I sighed, detaching a hand from the steering wheel to run shaky fingers through my hair. The outside word was pushing in on me, pressing against me.

"Maybe we should skip the diner?" Red's eyes were shadowed, worried. I could feel his hand move to the back of my neck his fingers cold against my skin, but comforting all the same.

"No," I said, more sharply than I had intended. I leaned back against his touch, closing my eyes again, willing myself to focus. "No, we'll go. Let's go."

"Stan…"

I heard the silent question in his tone, but I shrugged it off and put the car in drive. Red settled back into his seat, pulling his seatbelt on as I drove onto the street, but thankfully stayed silent. I thought I knew what he might ask, but I wasn't sure I could answer his question. I focused on the drive, on the road ahead, trying to ignore the brand of silence in the car and outside of it, ignore it and not focus on it because I wanted to, so badly.

The diner came into view sooner than I had expected, but I caught on quick enough and took the turn onto the parking lot. We got out of the car, walked to the diner with just the right amount of distance you'd expect to find between two guys who happen to be hanging out with each other. Rectangles of light lit the sidewalk right outside the diner and the door seemed to shine brightly in the darkness of the evening. I was greeted with a burst of warm, cinnamon and bacon scented air the moment I pulled it open. Red followed me inside, glancing around quickly as we walked across the entrance mat. I couldn't see anyone familiar, and apparently neither could he. We made our way across the sticky diner floor and past a few half-full tables to the corner booth in the darkest part of the room. I dragged my jacket off impatiently, tossing it onto the booth seat before falling onto it myself. I was suddenly stifling in the heated atmosphere of the diner; I felt overheated, slightly nauseated.

I barely noticed when the waitress stepped over to us, barely registered her not-exactly-cheerful smile. She chewed her gum loudly as we ordered our coffees, mine with cream, Red's straight black and bitter. I avoided his look as she walked away, fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers instead. The table between us was greasy and slightly wet beneath my hands. It was a long moment before the waitress returned and I was able to switch my focus to adding sugar to my coffee and mixing it slowly.

I looked up finally, unable to stand the feeling of his eyes on me any longer. He had his arms crossed on the table in front of him, the coffee sitting untouched, a look of practiced patience on his face. He was good at that patience thing, too good at it. I sighed, leaning back against the back of the booth, and tried not to look defeated.

"You don't talk much lately," Red said once it became apparent I wasn't the one who was going to start. I shrugged.

"There's not much to talk about, really," I said, trying to grin. He didn't look convinced, and I looked away, fiddling with an unopened pack of sugar.

"I'm here, Stan…" He said, his voice soft. I couldn't look at him, not then. My fingers clenched around the sugar packet. Something inside me felt pained, hollow. Something inside me wanted to escape to him again.

"I know…"

****

The silence was deafening; there was a roar to it that I'd only begun hearing in the past few weeks. It was hard to think in that house, it was hard to do anything really. Voices seemed hollow there, movements seemed slowed. I found myself getting nauseated there much too quickly, hit by strange feelings of weightlessness, helplessness. Paranoia, maybe. Maybe a phobia developing, I don't know. I don't know. I couldn't step foot inside without my head aching, my eyes burning, my legs threatening to buckle beneath me. It was overreaction, I knew it, but why, I couldn't say, I couldn't even begin to try and understand. I had hoped I'd get over it, eventually, fight past the feelings that threatened to overcome me. I thought I knew what it was, but that didn't help. I thought if I knew what was poisoning me, maybe I'd be able to find the antidote. I didn't want to find the antidote for this, though, not this. Not this.

At the moment, it was all I could do to keep myself sitting on the couch. I was trying to concentrate on the TV in front of me, but that was proving a little difficult with the speed at which the channels were being flipped. The word "mute" flashed along with the changing channels, hanging over the head of a surprised looking police officer one second and a floating crocodile the next. The speed of the changing images probably wasn't helping the nausea creeping in my stomach, the strange feeling of detachment that was crowding in my head.

I glanced over to the right where Kyle sat at the other edge of the couch, eyes fixed on the TV screen, his left arm tucked tight against his body. I was hit with the urge to comment on something, anything, anything to break the silence, but the stiff way he held himself scared me out of acting on it. I shifted on the couch, almost wincing as the couch cushions shifted underneath me. My hands felt sweaty; I rubbed them against the ribbed fabric of the couch. I felt a sense of vertigo, a sudden shift of gravity from below to just somewhere on the left. I swallowed thickly, looked at the TV again, attempted to make sense of the flickering images, the silent pantomime. A car, and some people, and a dog running across a field and I wanted Sparky suddenly, I wanted Sparky so bad, wanted to pet him and feel his fur and feel his life and that wasn't possible; Sparky was dead. Sparky was dead.

"W-wanna take a w-walk?"

Kyle's voice was low, very low, but loud enough to be heard over the roar of the silence. I started, swallowed thickly. I still hadn't gotten used to that stutter. I should have gotten used to it already.

"Okay," I replied, surprised by the sudden blackness of the TV screen. Slowly I stood up, waiting until Kyle had passed me to follow him to the front door. He pulled his coat out of the front closet, pulling it on with a strange sort of cold calculation. I grabbed my jacket out of the closet, focused on getting it on and zipped up. I was almost consciously avoiding looking at him, looking towards him, looking at anything in his direction, and I wondered if he could tell. I hoped he couldn't tell.

We left the house, walking down the slush covered sidewalk towards Main street. The sun glinted off of the white snow on the lawns of the houses we passed, but it was muted by the low laying clouds. Every now and then a dark shadow passed over us, a large cloud blotting the sun for a moment. I kept pace with Kyle, trying and failing to look in his direction. I didn't know what I had to do. I wasn't sure I could do it if I even knew what I should do. I should do something.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked after we'd walked a few blocks. I managed to catch Kyle's shrug out of the corner of my eye, forced myself to look at him. He didn't seem to be focusing on anything; his eyes were darting around everywhere. He still had his left arm pulled in close to his side, hand stuffed in his coat pocket. He turned towards me suddenly, and his eyes caught mine before I could look away. They were a deeper gray than I'd ever seen before; there was a strange sort of glossiness to them.

"Park?" He asked, his voice wavering slightly. I nodded, unable to speak, and we turned right down Grant avenue. A car passed us, slowing along the icy street, and I saw Kyle glance at it, a haunted look on his face. He picked up at the pace once the car passed us, head lowered, and I hurried to keep up with him. The walk wasn't long, most of the way having been shoveled by the owners of the houses we passed. At the corner of May and Grant was our old elementary school, large pale building looking much as it had when we were younger.

Some kids were out front, digging through the snow piles the janitor had built up by the school walls. A little fat kid started complaining about something, angrily shoving another kid into the snow pile. The second kid struggled to get up, losing his hat in the process, and shoved the fat kid into the pile as two more kids started laughing. I slowed for a moment as we passed, watching as they finished laughing and pulled the fat kid out of the snow drift. Their shouts and laughter resounded off of the buildings around, a cacophony of joy and the energy of youth. I grinned softly, watching as they tore off down the sidewalk, the fat kid at the end of their little group.

A sound caught my attention, something close to but not quite a growl. I turned my attention back to where we were going only to find Kyle stopped on the sidewalk in front of me, his eyes on the kids I had just been watching. There was something strange in his face, something feral in his eyes. The twist of his lips resembled a snarl more than anything, and for a moment I was frozen there, on the sidewalk, unable to move for fear he'd turn that inhuman look on me.

He shifted suddenly, coughed. I noticed him shudder, like a sudden, violent twitch, and then he was off again, moving down the sidewalk towards the park that was located just across the street. I followed after him, a good few steps behind. I could hear laughter behind me, distant and faded, and something was twisting in the pit of my stomach, something sour and wrong.

Kyle walked through the opening in the park fence, his eyes on the ground in front of him. The walkway in the park was full of sludge and half-frozen boot-prints, bordered by large trees on either side. The octopus-shaped whirligig stood half-covered in snow, one single cheery octopus eye looking happily over the mound of snow. I looked over towards the jungle gym, its slide and tunnel painted the same garish orange it had been when we were little. Icicles hung from the monkey bars, long and dangerous looking like the teeth of some carnivorous beast. I shuddered, realized I had lost sight of Kyle. Looking around, I hurried on down the path trying to catch a glimpse of him. The wind gusted suddenly, and I could hear the familiar squeaks of the swing chains. I stepped over the low fence that bordered the pathways separating the different sections of the park, and walked towards where I thought remembered the swings to be.

Kyle was sitting in the swing the farthest from the path, eyes focused somewhere on the ground in front of him. I made my way over to him, nearly slipping on the frozen snow as the wind gusted again. It was bitter, cold, biting even through my jacket. I shuddered as I reached the second swing, and sat down. The chains squeaked in protest, and I eyed them warily. The swing set was old, and rusty. The chains were grimy with caked on dirt and flaking orange rust. I thought I could hear the pipes of the frame creaking, thought I could see them twisting under our weight.

"Stan?" Kyle asked suddenly, softly, and I nearly missed his voice as the wind gusted again.

"Yeah?" I asked, gripping at the swing chains. I couldn't look anywhere other than ahead suddenly. He didn't say anything for a long time, and I looked over at him finally, carefully. I could see him start forming words, start trying to say something.

"N-nevermind," He grimaced, dropping his head slightly.

"Kyle, it's cool," I said, paused. I dropped my hands a little lower on the chains, felt the rust flaking as my fingers ran over them. "Talk to me…"

"F-fuck, Stan," He shuddered, shook his head. Grimacing, he pressed his face against the chain of the swing. I could see him rubbing his left arm, could see his left hand twitch slightly. I thought I should say something, but I didn't know what I could say. I didn't know anything anymore.

"I-I… Stan, I j-just… fuck, I h-hate him, Stan, I h-hate him s-s-so much…" Kyle breathed, his voice low, raw. His eyes were cloudy, muddy almost. I couldn't see much in them - I haven't been able to see much in them for so long – but what I could see made my stomach twist. I wasn't sure if it was from that strange glare in them, a glint that couldn't come from anywhere but inside, or if it was from the strange way they seemed to focus on nothing, or rather not focus at all.

I swallowed thickly, turned to look somewhere else, anywhere else. The snow was gray around us; there was a distinct lack of light even though there were less clouds in the sky.

"M-maybe… Maybe I d-don't hate h-him… M-maybe I d-do…" Kyle continued, voice hushed, pained. It was cutting into me with each word. "B-but maybe I d-d-on't… You – you c-can't hate something t-that isn't there, r-right? Can y-you hate it? If i-it's not t-there? C-can… can you n-not hate it?"

I didn't want to look at him, I did not want to look at him, but I was looking at him; his eyes pointed towards the sky, his face too pale even in this cold. His right hand was on his left arm, twisting and flexing; he was shuddering. I could see him shuddering.

"Kyle…" I stood up, the swing rocking slightly as I left it, the chains squeaking. He wasn't paying attention to me, his eyes still focused above us somewhere. Maybe he couldn't pay attention to me. Maybe I wasn't there at all.

I moved in front of him, grabbed hold of his shoulders. His hand was still twisting around his arm, knuckles white. I could feel him shivering beneath my hands, but it was like I was feeling it through layers, as if he was somewhere else, somewhere different, and I was just feeling his echoes. "Kyle…"

He turned to me, then, slowly, mechanically. I couldn't read his eyes, couldn't even see their color, but they glistened a little too much in the lack of light, and even as I watched, a single tear broke free at the corner of his right eye, slid down the much too pale skin of his cheek to his chin. I crouched down in front of him, pulled him towards me until he was pressed against my chest, dangerously close to falling out of the swing. For a single, terror filled moment I couldn't feel him, couldn't feel his weight against mine, couldn't feel him between my arms, and I squeezed him tighter, held him so tightly I thought I would break him. He was muted, his entire being was barely visible; he shuddered but it was just more echoes in my arms.

"I l-lost something. S-stan… I l-lost s-something…"


	9. Fatally Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when they're not entirely shunted out of the story (I admit it, I've done it myself; just look at this story). We have a lot of angry parents, indifferent parents, accepting parents, and, in Kyle's case, accepting-activist parents. There are a few others, but they're the occasional, rare glimpse.
> 
> I have a hard time placing Red's mother into one of those categories, so let me know what you think of her. She's an interesting lady.
> 
> This is indeed, the beginning of the end. Next chapter will end this story (at a nice, even ten) and will give the green light to Baptize Me In.
> 
> I hope you all won't hate me too much; remember, my sequels tend to end on happy notes!
> 
> Not much to say now, I'll leave the rest for the final note in the next chapter.
> 
> I will, however, leave you with this one Stan quote that I unfortunately could not work into this chapter (the story decided to rewrite itself halfway through). See if you can figure out what it pertains to.
> 
> Stan: "I-I'm… heh… I'm not laughing. I'm not! I'm… it's just... No, no, it... it sounds very… Amish."

I took the turn off of the road and onto the dirt path that led deeper into the woods. Slowly, I drove over the snow-clogged path, the car dropping into hidden pits every now and then. Cartman fiddled with something, glancing out every now and then beyond the side window.

Nothing but trees as far as we can see.

Ahead a parting in the forest slowly grew into a clearing, and I pulled off of the path and onto the snowy field. Cutting the engine, I got out and headed towards the trunk as Cartman clambered out of the passenger's seat. He walked over to me as I opened the trunk, holding his hands out for me to pass him the model airplane that lay inside. I took out a large bag as well, filled with tools and notebooks and whatever else Cartman had thought he needed, and followed him out to a patch of the field that had been shoveled off. A sign stood off to the side, its words obscured by a covering of snow.

"You think it'll fly?" I asked as Cartman set the large model onto the relatively flat surface of the field. The model itself was impressive; nearly four feet from wingtip to wingtip, with a bullet shaped body ending in a sleek rudder.

"Of course it will, I built it mahself," Cartman huffed, standing up and walking over to me. He motioned for me to give him the bag, and I handed it over. The sky was clear, the sun was bright but not glaring.

"That's why I was asking…" I grinned. Cartman grumbled something under his breath as he dug through the bag, finally pulling out a large radio controller.

I turned to look around the clearing. Towards the far edge there was a sudden drop, a steep hill that led down further to a stream a couple dozen feet down. There were a few birds out at the edge, flitting around a dark spot on the snow. The stillness in the air was broken by a sudden low whine of a motor, and I turned to find Cartman starting to taxi the model plane down the length of the field towards the drop.

"Ten bucks says it goes over," I said, watching the plane pick up speed as its propeller pulled it along. Cartman just grinned, a little evilly I'd say, and pressed something on the controller. The plane's wing flaps tilted and suddenly the model shot into the sky, engine whirring as it rose higher and higher.

"HA! Ha, take that Marsh!" Cartman crowed, shooting me a victorious look. I rolled my eyes and tried to look suitably upset. Cartman looked back up at his plane after a moment, and I dropped the stupid look I was sure I had on my face and looked over towards where I had seen the birds before. They were gone.

"So…" Cartman said, drawing the word out until it his voice faded. I shrugged, started to look at him but decided not to half-way through. My eyes rested on a fallen branch at the edge of the field. "Kenneh's been sleeping over the past few nights."

I shrugged, and then realized that probably wasn't a good enough answer. I tried to think of the right sort of answer, but it was a while before I understood, really, what Cartman had said. I laughed.

Cartman turned a thoughtful look my way, and I looked at him finally, because it hadn't been a laugh, not really.

"That's weird," I said, because that was probably the best way of putting it. Cartman nodded, raised his eyes back to the plane circling the clearing.

"Thought you might know why." He said, his voice coming easy and relaxed in the cool air.

"You don't?" I asked, and this time it was Cartman's turn to shrug. I eyed him for a moment, then looked up at the model plane. "Why do you think I would know?"

"Well, Super Best, I just thought someone would be talking to you," Cartman replied as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"I'm not –" I cut myself off, stared at the trees at the edge of the clearing.

"Not what, Stan?" Cartman goaded, and he knew damn well what he was doing. I avoided looking at him, felt my hands clench into fists. The model plane buzzed low over the treetops. I saw it twist nearly onto its side as it took a sharp turn.

"Shut up," I said finally, heard Cartman give a sharp laugh. A few large black birds lifted out of the trees as the plane flew overhead, silent except for the flapping of their wings.

"Fine then, let's talk about something else…" It was a tone I knew all too well, and I sighed and rolled my eyes. Nothing good would come out of it, but it had to be better than the previous conversation.

"All right then," I stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets, watching the plane chase after some more birds that had flown out from the trees.

"How about this…" Cartman began, and I waited, impatiently, while he sent the plane into a corkscrew, carefully pulling it out again and sending it curving higher up in the air. "We'll talk about why you're spending so much time hanging out with that faggeh goth kid all of a sudden…"

My breath caught somewhere in my throat, midway between inhale and exhale. I found myself focused suddenly on that dark spot in the snow near the edge of the drop.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, with the ghost of a laugh. I thought I handled that quite well, no faltering over my words. I had a half-grin on my face, a wretched, strained half-grin that I was struggling to keep even though I was turned away from him, and he shouldn't have been able to see. He couldn't see.

"Nothing, nothing." Cartman said with a well-placed sigh. "It's just, you know, I could swear that ever since Clyde's parteh you two seem to be spending an awful lot of time together…"

It took all my willpower to keep from turning my head, in any direction, to keep from letting that half-grin slip from my face. I tried to remember, what did I do when I was nervous? What were my tics? What should I not do?

"I don't know what you're talking about…" I managed to say, felt my throat constrict painfully midway through my sentence. The model plane dipped below the edge of the drop, out of sight for a moment.

"Strange, how Bebe seemed so… misplaced during the parteh… You know, after you ditched her in the bathroom…" Cartman's voice was low, precise. I found myself swallowing thickly, the grin having faded from my face long ago. He shouldn't be able to put anything together; how the hell can he put anything together? How can he know? How?

"You know, with your asthma historeh, I thought it was a little weird that you'd come back smelling like cigarettes…" The plane dodged up from behind the drop, twisting around to fly low over the treetops again, and Cartman added, almost as an afterthought, "And clove cigarettes, at that…"

I forced the bunched muscles in my back to relax, tried to ignore that single bead of sweat that was crawling down the back of my neck. He had nothing. He had to have nothing. He couldn't… I looked towards the sky, my breath clouding in front of me. Unaffected. He had nothing.

"Do you want to hear more?" Cartman's voice held his own patented form of temptation. My mouth felt dry. I closed my eyes; I wondered why I put up with this. Why I put up with him. I wondered why I was out there in the middle of a forest with a model airplane buzzing around over my head when I really wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. With him.

Then I realized, I didn't have a choice. I never did.

"What do you want, Cartman?" My voice sounded just as shaky as I felt. I didn't want to open my eyes; I had the strange feeling that I would see him in front of me, his mouth twisted in a maniacal grin.

"Want? Oh Stanleh, I don't want anything. Just knowing is enough…" A chuckle bubbled through his words, "… for now."

I opened my eyes, looking up at the sun above. Its light wasn't enough to keep the chill from cleaving into me.

I've never had a defense.

****

Time is a matter of perception.

I got lost somewhere between his dark eyes and the pale cream skin of his right hip. He had his stupid black arm-warmers on and that stupid spiked choker he'd said was to keep me far, far away from his neck, like I was a vampire or something. His hands were tangled in my hair, and his tongue was magic. I groaned, pressed my bare chest against his, slid my hands down his sides, over his back, down the line of his spine until my fingers were sliding across his skin past the edges of his black jeans. He moved, one of his legs sliding up across mine, thigh against thigh. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't care, but we parted anyway, his eyes half-lidded and his breath hot against my lips. My hips rocked against his, hard, and he let out a small gasp, head rolling back just slightly on his pillow to expose a tantalizing couple of inches of pale skin above the edge of his choker. I leaned forward, careful to avoid impaling myself, and pressed my lips to his neck, kissing and sucking softly. I felt him growl low in his throat before I heard it, but he wasn't pulling away, and I nipped at the side of his neck, his body arching against mine.

One of my hands moved to the front of his pants, fingers tugging the edge lower. He turned his face towards mine, forehead pressed against forehead. I grinned, gazed into his smoldering eyes and let my hand creep past the edge of his pants, fingers feeling taut-stretched denim above and hot skin below. I saw his lips curl at the edges, his eyes burning, his hips rolling as my hand probed further, and his tongue ran across my jaw line, and it was fire, and I had a hundred and one ideas in mind of what to do once I got his pants off, and I was going to do all of them, one by one by…

By…

It took me a moment to realize we had both paused, and moment longer to realize why we had paused. Among the sound of our panting was something else, something like a low and mechanical buzzing. I stared down at him, confused, my hand still hanging out down south. His eyes were unfocused, hovering somewhere above my right shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Dammit," He breathed, and we fumbled for a moment to disentangle ourselves. The buzzing seemed to grow louder, almost impatient, as we fell apart, and Red reached for his phone on the side table. I lay there, propped up on my elbows and trying to be as quiet as I could as he answered. "Hello? H-Hey Mom… Yeah – What? Oh… yeah, okay. All right."

I frowned as he hung up the phone and his eyes met mine.

"My mom's heading home…" He said, putting the phone back on the side table. I couldn't help but focus the dark spot just above his choker and just under his jaw line.

"How long?" I asked, running fingers through my hair.

"Ten minutes…" Red's voice dropped near to a whisper, and for a moment I stared at him, frozen. "Maybe…"

"Shit!" I wasn't panicking, I wasn't. "Shit!"

This was pulling it closer than we ever had before; the one day we were supposed to have a few hours – goddammit! Red tossed me my shirt, and I struggled to put it on. I was strangely uncoordinated; I couldn't find my shoes. I had no idea where my shoes were. And my jacket! Dammit, was it here or in the living room? I couldn't remember. Couldn't remember.

Red had pulled on his own shirt and was trying to get his hair to look like something other than Hello-There-I-Was-Almost-About-To-Have-Wild-Crazy-Sex-Maybe and I was tying my right shoe and still had no fucking clue where in the hell – Where in the hell was my fucking jacket?! – when the front door opened.

"Hello Jeramiah!"

I almost – no, no, I did snort –  _Jeremiah?_  – but one look at Red's face was more than enough to put the fear of God back in me. Now, I had met his mother all of once in my life, and she seemed pleasant enough at the time. The problem was, she was of good old fashioned South Park blood and while she seemed fine enough with her son dressing in black and hanging out in cemeteries all night, I had the feeling she wouldn't be very partial to him bringing other people's sons home to fuck around with in his bedroom. For a moment I entertained the idea of jumping out his window and making a break for it, a very tempting idea –

"Oh, do you have a friend over?"

-but fate obviously was a bitch and had other things in mind. I caught Red's eyes; I couldn't think. Footsteps were heading down the hallway. Our heads turned; my breath caught, my heartbeat sped up.

The

Door

Was

Open.

I jumped up from the bed and Red sidestepped away from my direction the moment his mother's figure appeared in the doorway. It didn't matter, either way. We might as well have painted a sign and hung it in the doorway. I tried to breath, tried to tell myself that this lady didn't look scary at all; she was significantly shorter than either one of us, with coppery-brown wavy hair and kind eyes in a round, pleasant face. She looked like someone's kindergarten teacher, which she was, and therefore she shouldn't be scary. At all.

"Why hello there boys," She smiled, and it wasn't exactly the most cheerful of smiles. Her eyes traveled from Red to me and then she was doing that thing where she was looking at both of us at the same time. "Why don't we go take a seat in the living room, hm?"

Did we have a choice? A minute later I was sitting at one side of the couch, with Red sitting at the other end, and his mom sitting in the seat across from us, her hands clasped on her knees in front of her. I was trying my best to look like a proper young man, and Red had put on the best indifferent look he had in his arsenal; somehow, I got the sickening feeling we weren't going to come out of this in one piece. I hoped I was wrong.

"Well now boys, I'll be honest. I'm not exactly all that supportive of … this," She motioned with her hand towards us, then brought it back to her knees again. That patient smile of her was killing me. "I know, oh I know that the teenage years are all about  _experimentation_ , I understand how it is. The world is a big, big place and you're just starting to venture out into it, and you're trying new things in new ways. Apparently, the 'hip' thing now is to actually encourage you, to just, get it out of the way now."

I glanced at Red; he seemed to be intensely focused on a spot on the wall opposite us.

"That's fine, boys, that's perfectly fine." Mrs. … Mrs. … I couldn't even remember at this point - she put on a, well, not exactly patronizing look, but close to it. "Everyone has moments where they want to, oh, try something  _different_.  _Be_ something different, maybe. I know. I also know you two have been trying, very hard, to keep this on the 'down low', as they say, and that's why I wanted to talk to you both."

For a moment there I thought I misheard her; she  _knew_? I felt Red shift on the couch, I spared a glance and saw that his mask had slipped a little.

"If you insist on… on… Well, see boys, some people have begun to talk," Her smile was just as sweet and fake as before; I thought I had an idea who those 'people' were. Her eyes locked on mine suddenly, and her gaze was hard. "They've begun to talk, and, well, we wouldn't want to have this get out, and get blown all out of proportion, would we?"

I couldn't look away from her gaze. I swallowed hard. I had to look somewhere, somewhere where I couldn't see that steel edge in her eyes. My eyes jumped to the side, tried to find something to focus on, settled on a small figurine of an angel standing on the edge of a cabinet, dressed in white and holding its angelic harp in hand.

Angelic.

Ideal.

Pure.

My breath caught in my throat, but I forced the words out anyway.

"No ma'am… we wouldn't…"


	10. Chapter 10

The sidewalk was gritty with salt of both the pet-safe and non-pet-safe varieties. Half the melted snow had already refrozen as pools of nearly invisible ice. My walk had stretched on for longer than I had thought it would; I'd circled this block far too many times. The oak tree in front of me was huge, branches splayed and ungainly against the sky. Snow spilled out of the split in its middle like a fungus.

I followed the lines of its trunk to where it split into two large branches. The crack ran through the middle of them, right at the joint. Above, each arm split into more and more branches, each smaller than the last, each with a soft covering of white and crystal. I kicked at the base of the trunk. A light dusting of snow sifted to the ground.

I gripped at the edge of the crack with one gloved hand, pulled, only to have a piece of bark come away in my hand. Sighing, I glanced over the crack again. Gripping a spot higher up, I pulled on it experimentally. It held, and soon I was hauling myself up along the snow covered sides of the crack. Finding myself a good foothold, I climbed a little way up onto one of the branch splits. It wasn't that wide, a foot, foot and a half maybe. Steadying myself with my hands, I carefully turned over and lay down against the branch, feet braced against the other branch in front of me. The cold of the snow on the branch started to seep through the back of my jacket almost instantly. I shuddered, shifting on the branch, and gripped it tighter to keep from falling off.

Above me the smaller branches stretched like black fingers across the sky. The clouds were a grayish-white and bottom heavy, bloated with their snowy payload. Birds flew low overhead, dark, their wing edges jagged. I watched them glide across the street, dropping to the dark branches of a tree on the other side. They sat still, and after a moment I couldn't distinguish them from the dark lines of the branches they sat on. I stared at them for a long moment; the black began to run into the gray-white behind it, became unfocused and distant.

There was something strange about  _knowing_. Something strange about knowledge itself. Something strange how the same sort of  _knowing_  affects people so differently. There's too many unknowns in the world, too many what-if's. Too many people who think they know the answer.

I thought I was okay not having the answer. I thought I was just fine not knowing everything there is to know. I didn't get frightened by the unknown, by the never-known.

It didn't seem to be a problem; or, at least it wasn't a problem often enough to become a problem.

I wasn't sure there was any middle ground for that. Most people were either scared by what exists beyond the limits of their vision or they could care less about it. I probably fell into that second category; I didn't need to know more than I have in front of me. If the time came that I needed to know it, I'd know it. Until then…

The birds had taken off. They scattered across the sky, the four of them flying in different directions.

"W-what the hell are you d-d-doing?"

I jumped, just slightly, and nearly lost my hold on the branch. Even so, my feet slid slightly down the edge of the crack, and a small avalanche of snow tumbled down the side of the tree. I looked over the curve of my knee towards the ground. Kyle stood below, his dark brown jacket open at the neck, hands in his pockets. He didn't look cold at all.

I considered answers for a moment.

"Just hanging," I grinned down at him. He scowled darkly, eyes narrowing.

"Hardy-f-fucking-har-har," He continued staring up at me, his scowl slowly falling into a thoughtful frown.

"Wanna join me?" I asked, nodding towards the other branch formed from the split. For a moment I thought he would decline the offer; his eyes grew a little darker and the frown deepened. Then he was shrugging, and walking over to the trunk. I moved back a bit, giving him room to climb up. He climbed better than I had; found foot- and hand-holds much easier. He'd reached the top of the crack with only about a foot left to pull himself up along when I saw the fingers of his left hand twitch. Thinking fast, I braced my feet against the opposite edge of the split and leaned over to grab his right arm just as his left hand slid nerveless from the hand-hold he'd found.

I could feel his weight pull at me, but he was already scrambling for a better hold, and he found one at last, his left hand gripping at another spot of the rough bark. He looked up at me, and our eyes met. There was a glint in the gray of his eyes, and something unreadable in his face, and whatever sparked the air between was raw, and it was real, and familiar.

It was ten years ago, and it was summer, and it was the abandoned clubhouse in the elm by the school, and we were laughing.

Slowly, weighted by memories, I helped him climb the rest of the way up the tree. With something akin to amiable silence we settled back on our respective branches, eyes on the sky above, our legs crossing where we had set our feet firmly against the tree bark.

For a moment the cold was there again, and I was alone.

Then he shifted, and his leg touched mine, and he existed then, in that pressure.

I breathed.

****

Kyle pushed open the front door and walked inside, leaving a trail of slush at each step. I sighed inwardly and tapped my boots on the doorstep before I followed.

"Hey fags, wait up!"

The suddenness of Cartman's voice appearing out of nowhere caught me off guard. Kyle growled, pulling his jacket off, and I turned to see Cartman puffing as he jogged up the driveway.

"C-close it on t-the f-f-fucker…" Kyle spat, and I heard him move onwards into the living room. I grabbed the door handle, tempted to slam the door shut in Cartman's face. Very tempted.

"Go ahead, Stan, you pusseh," Cartman was smirking in the kind of self-satisfied way that never boded well for anyone on the receiving end. I glared at him but took my hand off of the doorknob.

"Hurry up," I stepped back, unzipping my jacket and pulling it off. Cartman made it inside finally, slamming the door closed behind him. I grimaced, hung up my jacket in the side closet as Cartman headed on down the short hall.

"Kahl, where's Kenneh?" I heard him ask, and I walked in to find him hovering at the edge of the couch, Kyle already sprawled across one half. The TV was tuned into some talk show, and Kyle was focusing on it a bit more than he should have been. Vegetable gardens just weren't that interesting.

I slid between Cartman and the coffee table and sat down on the couch myself. Our hefty friend was showing no sign of joining us, which was strange in and of itself. He should have been trying to monopolize couch space, or TV channels at the moment. While staring at Kyle as if he was trying to read his mind, with that strange mix of confusion and revulsion, was exactly a Cartman-like thing to do, it just seemed a little out of context.

"Goddammit, Jew, where the hell is Kenneh?" Cartman asked again, with more than a hint of anger in his voice. Kyle shot him a heated glare, and I leaned back against the back of the couch to avoid getting caught in its trajectory.

"F-fuck if I kn-know," Kyle turned back to the TV and started flipping channels rabidly. Cartman let out an almost larger-than-life sigh. I tried to ignore him. Cartman was just not a person I wanted to deal with at the moment. Actually, I'd be fine right then if I found out I'd never have to deal with him again.

"Why d-don't' you j-just call him?" Kyle asked after a moment, exasperated.

"I'm not an idiot, Kahl," Cartman retorted, and now he was the one glaring. "I called Kenneh, but he's not answering."

Kyle snorted, apparently amused.

Cartman growled.

"What do you need him for, anyway?" I asked, sighing. I looked up at Cartman, and he glared down at me.

"Kenneh left me a voicemail, said he wanted to talk about some letter or some stupid shit like that," Cartman said moving towards the couch. I scooted towards Kyle's half hurriedly as he settled his weight next to me.

"What letter?" I asked, looked at Cartman, but he shrugged, looking annoyed.

"I don't know, Stan," He said, with utter patience. "That is why I'm trying to find Kenneh."

I looked at Kyle, hoping he might have an answer to the situation. He was frowning at the TV, which was now showing fluffy puppies running around on a green field.

"A l-l-letter?" Kyle asked. Cartman heaved a sigh again.

"Yes Kahl, a let-ter. Something you write, and then put into a mail box to send to someone. Remember?" Cartman shot a nasty look over at the other end of the couch. "Or d-do you w-want m-m-me to repeat t-that in s-s-stutter so y-you unders-s-stand?"

Kyle shot up to his feet, eyes blazing. I jumped up just in time to plant my hands on his chest and keep him from launching himself at Cartman.

"Boys? What's going on in here?"

Kyle's mom appeared quite suddenly in the doorway to the kitchen. She still had her coat on, and was giving all of us suspicious looks.

"Why hello there, Mrs. Broflovski," Cartman's voice was so sweet it very nearly made me sick right there. I heard him stand up behind me. "I was just talking to Kahl and Stan about that letter Kenneh said he received…"

"Oh, the letter!" Mrs. B brightened suddenly, "Did Kenny tell you about it then?"

"W-what let-t-ter?!" Kyle shouted, spinning around to glare at his mom, and I grabbed his shoulder with one hand. Just in case.

"Why, the letter he got from Kevin," Mrs. B looked a little bemused. "I was sure he'd told you about it."

"What?" I stared at her, not exactly comprehending. I heard Cartman echo me, a little quieter, more to himself than to anyone else. Beneath my fingers I could feel the muscles of Kyle's shoulder tense.

"He… he didn't tell you?" Mrs. B asked, and this time her voice had grown a little softer, and her eyes had drifted towards Kyle. I turned to look at Cartman, but he didn't seem to be paying attention. I turned back around.

My hand was empty.

I blinked, lost for a moment, and looked towards the main hallway in time to catch Kyle taking the steps upstairs two at a time. Hopping over the coffee table I followed him, Cartman's heavy steps and cursing close behind. The stairs seemed to be taller than I had remembered; halfway up I was hit by vertigo. Grabbing desperately at the banister, I nearly fell over as Cartman practically collided with me.

"What the hell Stan?" His voice was breathless. I pushed off from the banister.

"Shut up," I took the last steps in a few bounds, dashed down the hallway so fast I nearly ran by their room entirely. I paused at the entrance; Kyle was standing in the middle of the room, his back to the door. I took a step inside.

"Kyle?" I took another step towards him, but he didn't respond. Something was… off.

My eyes traveled over their room. Kenny's bed was made. The desk they shared looked less cluttered than the last time I had seen it. The closet door was closed.

"Kahl!"

Cartman's voice resounded sharply in the silent room. I jumped, and Kyle jerked around towards us. Something dropped out of his hand, fell to the floor with a clatter. His eyes looked unfocused, distant.

"Kyle, what's wrong?" I moved closer to him. A second, and as if someone had hit a switch, his eyes sharpened, hardened. I held out a hand, but he brushed past me, pushed past Cartman and into the hallway and down it.

"What the fuck is going on?" Cartman glared after Kyle, and then turned his glare on me. I stared at him for a moment, frowning, then turned back around.

A foot from my feet lay two keys on a key ring and a keychain with the words "Due to budget cuts, the light at the end of the tunnel is out of service."

I looked up at the window. The blinds were up, and in the distance, against the white-gray backdrop of snow clouds, a single black bird winged its way towards infinity.

****

I was standing on what seemed to be the threshold of the rest of my life. Figuratively, of course. Literally I was standing in the ankle deep snow of my backyard. I looked up.

The sky above was dark with something more than just the night, but the stars still shone like distant beacons. The chill in the air was cutting, but I ignored it, tried to find a constellation I could name among the stars hanging above me.

I couldn't remember winter ever being this bitter before.

I shook my head, breathed deeply and watched my breath cloud in front of me like dragon smoke. I felt the urge to roar. I managed to keep myself from acting on it…

Hell, what's the point of being young and crazy if you're not allowed to act it sometimes?

Deep breath, open your mouth –

ROAR

For a blissful ten seconds it was just me, the starry night sky, and my craziness bouncing off the buildings around me. Barking started up two doors down, then howling the next block over, and by the time my voice had faded a chorus of dogs had picked up the tune. A light turned on in the house a few houses up from mine. Voices were calling and shouting and cursing.

I laughed.

One in the morning probably wasn't a good time to go around roaring at the night sky, but I couldn't find it in myself to care at the moment.

I looked back up at the sky. The stars were still shining.

Next week started winter break, and then? Then spring, and spring break. And summer.

Fall later, and college.

Life.

I took a deep breath, felt the cold fill me, energize my senses, overpower my mind.

Life. The Future. Everything.

I grinned.

Once you got down to it, it was all pretty simple, wasn't it?

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The best of a book is not the thought which it contains,
> 
> but the thought which it suggests;
> 
> just as the charm of music dwells not in the tones
> 
> but in the echoes of our hearts.
> 
> ~ John Greenleaf Whittier
> 
> There you have it friends, the ambiguous end to an ambiguous story. I know I've left you with more questions than answers, and that right now it seems that just about nothing at all connects with each other anymore.
> 
> Don't worry, everything comes together! Keep an eye out for Baptize Me In, which will continue with our story. It will still be Stan's point of view, and it will take place just around two, two and a half years in the future. If you enjoyed Pink, be sure to come back for BMI!
> 
> Now, to be honest, I never thought Pink would amount to much of anything. It's a story about a pairing that isn't all that popular, that doesn't have that much written of it, and I never expected to have much of a readership develop. As I've said so often before, this story was entirely experimental; I've written things the way I thought I would enjoy writing them, and enjoy reading them. Dramatic angst, of course, seems to be a staple of my stories, but there is more than that here, much more. The more the story progressed, the more tainted Stan's view of the world had become, I'm sure you've noticed. I've avoided many things in my writing, I don't like throwing anyone into a fast-forward of emotions or situations. There are moments that I didn't write in this story, because I didn't feel they added anything to it, other than a word count. There are moments that I added that might have seemed entirely unneeded at the time, and still might seem so. Not everything is important, but everything that has been put in was put in for a reason.
> 
> I don't know if any of you are interested in my views of the characters here in Pink, but I'll tell you all the same, just for fun.
> 
> Stan is a Renaissance painting; he's ideal in everything except reality.
> 
> Red is a tribal man in front of a camera; his soul's been caught, and he's not quite sure where to look for it.
> 
> Kenny is an exercise in the surreal; he is a realist with his head in the clouds.
> 
> Kyle is thirteen years old and never a day older; he is rash, and bold, and violently lost.
> 
> Cartman is a clockwork mechanism; he's an intricate bundle of cogs and gears so obscured by its case that its secrets are secret even to itself.


End file.
